Spring Break

                   Slowly, as slowly as possible, I get up off the dirty mattress, Inching my hands out far enough apart on what I know to be a very creaky wooden floor so that I can lift myself up. My friends, those still alive, snore next to me, exhausted and all out of hope. Across the room is Raul, his finger resting on the trigger even as he slowly begins to breath deeper and deeper and then finally begins to nod off. This is the moment I have been waiting for; that second his chin lowers enough to hit his chest I know it is time. Now he is really out cold. If he wakes up he will put a bullet through my head before I even get a chance to register what is happening, but if I stay it is only a matter of hours, maybe days, but no more then that.
         Finally, I am in a position that I can push myself up without having to move my feet and risk that squeaky floor. My right arm, where he hit me countless times with that baseball bat lying next to him, wants to give out. I wobble. I am aware of every ache and pain on my body. I feel the slow drip of blood run out of my nose, over my upper lip, and drop to the floor. I am not to the point that I have to stand up straight, my arms are fully extended and in a second I will be fully standing.
         My right leg, also the victim of that horrible baseball bat, feels like it might betray me, sending me sprawling across the floor. It does not, though. I take my first step, the floor makes the slightest noise, a sigh really. I look over to Raul and he still seems to be sleeping soundly. I take another step, another sigh, and another glance at the still sleeping Raul. A few more steps and I am at the door.
         I reach out and slowly grasp the door knob. The cold metal feels like freedom pressed against my palm. They do not lock the door. It actually does not even have a lock. I guess they figure why bother when the door is guarded by a 6'5" 260 lb behemoth with a revolver on his hip and a shotgun at his side. I grab the door knob and slowly, ever so slowly, twist it. I turn it five degrees, then five more, then go to twist it all the way. This god-awful screech follows and then, "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"