[ CW ] Either begin or end your story with `` In my pocket , there was a toothbrush and a human eyeball . ''

In my pocket, there was a toothbrush and a human eyeball. 
 
 My name is James Chrispin, and this is what my life has become. It's been five years since I was convicted of murder, but I've made the best of it. On the outside I was an enforcer for a mob boss by the name of Vincento Rossi, and when I took the fall for him, he promised he'd keep me busy inside. 
 
 So far, he'd kept his promise and I've never lived so comfortably. Shit, I've got everything but women in here. That does n't mean I do n't have to get my hands dirty from time to time though. This is still prison, and my luxuries make me a prime target. Fortunately most of these punks are too afraid of what would happen should they mess with me. 
 
 I've got to collect on someone who's rather late on their drug payments. You would n't believe how fucking stupid junkies in the slam can be. It's not like they have very fucking far to run. 
 
 I've found the stupid prick trying to hide in his own cell. Looks like he's saved a little smack for this very special occasion. There's yellow slime down the side of his mouth and his eyes are still rolling around. He's aware that I'm here since he's trying to back away from me, but there is n't far to go. His back is soon stuck in the corner of the cell, he's looking at me like everyone always does, fear and anguish. He does n't know what's coming, but he knows it's going to hurt. I can really see his eyes now, they are such a bright green. 
 
 That's when it hits me: he can still buy smack with only one eye. I pull the shiv out of my pocket, they try to make it difficult for us by giving us tiny toothbrushes, but it does n't do any good. A few hours work and you have a pretty functional stabbing weapon. Pity I do n't have a knife, it'd make cutting the optical nerve a lot easier. But a carpenter should n't complain about his tools. Holding him down is easy, he only weighs about a hundred pounds wet not to mention he's still coming down from his high. Pushing the point into the corner of his eye is almost too easy. Blood makes the brush slick but I need to be careful that I do n't slip up and poke this in too deep. With a sickening slurping pop the eye is out of the socket. He finally passed out from shock. 
 
 Slipping the brush into my pocket I move over to the combo shitter and sink to clean my hands and the eye off. I pocket the orb as I step out of his cell, there are a few lookieloos out here, but they wo n't talk. They never do. Just another day in paradise after all. 
 
 ( still not terribly good at all this, but the first thing that popped into mind was prison )
