[ WP ] Two men on death row try to creep each other out from adjoining cells .

“ I ’ m not touching you. ” 
 
 “ I can tell. ” 
 
 “ No, really, I ’ m not touching you. ” 
 
 I don ’ t respond. 
 
 There ’ s a low, buzzing, whistling noise. The hairs in my ears, on the back of my neck, prickle and I know his finger, moistened by his lips, is one head-jerk away from being buried in my ear canal. 
 
 “ Noodle, noodle, big boy. ” 
 
 “ For the love of Christ, ” I say. He whips the finger back. “ Aren ’ t you done? ” 
 
 The only thing separating us is a small hole, about five feet off the ground, no more than half the size of my palm, maybe, knocked into the wall. Son of a bitch has been here eight years and spent the last three wearing away this hole. Or so he told me. Several times. Whether or not it ’ s true, who cares. It ’ s a pain in the ass. 
 
 “ I ’ m not done ‘ till you are, sweetie. ” 
 
 I turn my head and meet his eyes, of course staring through the hole. His eyes are downturned. Yellow at the edges. I ’ m sure they would have been a lovely shade of green without the veneer of batshit insanity whirling in their depths. 
 
 “ You ’ re going to stare at me now, right? ” I say. 
 
 The eyes crinkle at the edges and the hole is once again filled with darkness and his finger emerges. 
 
 “ Come on, don ’ t you want me to touch you? ” 
 
 I turn my head away in response. The finger whips back. 
 
 “ Ever think about the type of person who ’ s in here? ” he continues, his voice little more than a gurgle with consonants. “ What they ’ ve done with their hands? ” 
 
 “ Keep talking, ” I say. “ Please. You ’ re not going to get to me, but you seem bored. ” 
 
 “ Damn right I am, ” he says. “ Bored and lonely and what I would love to do to you, big boy. I miss the smell of skin, that soft, baby powder smell. But you know what I miss most? ” 
 
 
 I don ’ t respond. 
 
 “ The screams, ” he says. “ The cries for me to stop. The muffled screams of pain, the tongue on my hand when I try and shut ‘ em up. And it would be easy with you, you ’ re so small and skinny. ” 
 
 I sense the finger at my ear. 
 
 “ Sure you don ’ t want me to touch you? ” 
 
 The cold, wet finger connects with my inner ear. I gasp. 
 
 “ Wait, shit, what just…. ” 
 
 I barely even notice the finger is gone. That was a good one. I button my fly. 
 
 “ Holy shit. ” 
 
 I hear him scrambling, stumbling over the floor. 
 
 “ What the fuck is your deal, man? That was my fucking finger! What is wrong with you?! ” 
 
 I don ’ t respond. I only smile. 
 
 I win.
