Word Duel: Sweater

Today, we’re going way back. This story comes from the word duel that started it all. 

“You and your fucking turtleneck,” Mikey said, as he punched the cement wall.

“Fuck you, it was bad plan to begin with,” Jarod said from the cot. Their cell was damp and smelled like mildew. The guards had roughed them up when they’d brought them in. That was hours ago and they still hadn’t seen the rest of the crew.

“If you had just worn black like you were fucking supposed to this wouldn’t have happened,” Mikey said, sucking on his bleeding knuckles.

“It’s grey. That’s practically black and It’s my lucky sweater. Besides it’s cold as fuck outside. I’m not gonna wear black spandex like some wanna be sissy-ninja.”

“Fuck you. It’s tactical.” he mumbled through his knuckles.

“It’s asinine. There’s ten feet of snow outside and you want to wear tights.”

“You’ve no room to talk. Your fucking gramma’s sweater, what got us pinched. or don’t you remember.”

“I remember the pig-fucker stretching the collar.”

“You could have taken it off.”

“You could have fucked yourself. I’m not leaving my sweater.” Jarod stood up from the the cot. “You’re the one who pretended you’re the super criminal!” He pushed Mikey hard against the wall. “I didn’t want to do this.”

The guard yelled for them to keep it down.

“Fuck you too,” Jarod yelled back, bringing the guard to their cell, nightstick in hand. He opened the door. Jarod charged at him head first like a ram. Surprised, The guard jumped sideway letting Jarod get behind him. Once he was passed, Jarod kicked him into the cell and slammed the door shut before snatching the key from the lock and running to the guards’ room.

Jarod returned wearing his grey sweater. “See ya, fuckos,” he laughed as he ran up the stairs to freedom.

“Don’t look at me,” Mikey said, removing his hand from his mouth to examine his knuckles. “he’s the asshole you should be pissed at.”