Piece Of Cake

The guards at the prison were not easily fooled by the old hacksaw-in-the-cake trick. They smashed the cake into pieces and ate most of it except the crumbs. They delivered the mess to the confined prisoner. They laughed at his disappointment. They laughed all the way down the hallway, pass all the other prisoners. They laughed like handcuffs.

The prisoner sat on his bunk, staring at the used-to-be-cake. He wondered what it might have tasted like. He poked at the pieces with a plastic spoon they gave him. There was barely enough for the pigeons. The other cruel prisoners had been late, off-key, with their added laughter.

The prisoner waited until the laughter died off. He smirked to himself. He knew what was in the cake. He did not need a hacksaw or escape. His mother had another gift instead.

The cake had been made with laxatives. Pretty soon it would kick in.