They put him behind bars for something he hadn't done. In fact, no one really knew that he hadn't murdered his neighbour. Except for him. It was a stunning sensation. To pull out a knife of a person who had just been freshly stabbed.
They sentenced him to fourteen years life imprisonment for brutal first degree murder. Well, all he could do was chuckle. There were at least fifteen eye witnesses. And all those witnesses trusted their eyes. No wonder they were still paupers.
The first year at prison was acceptable. Then it turned bad. Crime, drugs, ruthless beatings, fight clubs, you name it. The prison itself was a mini breeding ground for nascent criminals. It was a place where criminals could get intern jobs without risk being fired.
By the end of the second year, it had all become too much for him. All his attempts to stay away from the prison gangs went futile. All his pleas for peace went unheard. He had come from a respectable family, and yet there was no way he could make it out of prison alive without acquiescing.
Twelve years later, when it was time to be released, he had committed more crime than anyone else in the world. It had become second nature to him. At least ninety-nine percent of the life-threatening beatings inside the prison in the last ten years were master-minded by him. Still, no one knew. Not a soul. The first rule of fight club had been that no one was to speak about it.
When he got out of prison, people had figured he wasn't the neighbour's murderer after all. The real culprit had owned up. The judge offered compensation money in return for the time spent in prison.
And yet, there was a distant semblance of latency somewhere.