Shank

Monologue by person dressed in an overall.

Don’t ever be taken in by appearances. Don’t! It’s a big mistake. It could cost you.

Take a look at me, for instance. At first, you might think that I’m a labourer. A hard-working man, grafting with his hands. I’m not a labourer. Though I do keep my hands occupied. But I don’t have a job. Still less, would I ever have tools. They’re not allowed.

I’m not allowed any other clothes besides these overalls, either. Except for flip-flops. A ridiculous combination. Don’t blame me. I didn’t choose it.

If you look closer at these overalls, you may notice there is something not quite right about them. That’s partly what I mean about appearances. You need to look closer than your first impression.

Can you see what it is? This kind of overalls is sometimes called a "bib and brace" overall. Well, no sleeves, and they’ve got the bib. But have a look at the braces. See? Denim overalls, but no denim brace. That would be too strong. So we have these stupid elastic straps instead.

You can’t strangle yourself with a piece of elastic. At least, not easily. You can’t strangle anyone else either. They’d just struggle and get away. It would be hard to pull the elastic really tight and, anyway, this stuff’s so thin it would easily snap.

We’re not allowed anything like that in here. I’ve been here quite a long time. Never mind why. To be honest, I don’t understand why. I didn’t do anything wrong. At least, anything I see as wrong. Sometimes people just judge you with their opinions. Their opinions, your appearances – it’s all dodgy. Don’t.

They think I’m safe here now. Or rather, that they’re safe. I can’t get out, that I can’t hurt anyone. I’d never hurt anyone, honest. Not unless I had to. Sometimes you don’t have a choice in these things.

They don’t let you have anything you could tie something with, so no braces and no sleeves. Nothing you could hit with, so no shoes. Nothing you could cut or stab or lever with. They don’t let you have anything you could do anything with. Nothing. So you have to take, or, if you are lucky, find something.

I found a coin. It wasn’t… I don’t know how much it was for, but that didn’t matter to me. It had a far greater value than currency. There’s a stone step in the entrance way to the compound – they let us out there to exercise and leave the doors open on fine days so we get some fresh air and a bit of movement. There’s no way out of that compound, though. They’ve built it too well. As far as I can tell yet at any rate. Maybe I’m missing something. I don’t usually miss much. I’ve a lot of time to look at things. Anyway, the step. When nobody was watching, I’d rub the coin on the stone. I had to get it sharp. And to change its shape. Round was no good. I needed a sharp thing with a flat edge. One of the other inmates told me about that. Took me ages, to get the shape.

That inmate taught me something else. There’s an office attached to the ward. The door’s open in the day, so the orderly can see out from his desk. Come out and intervene if anyone kicks off. That happens quite a bit in a place like this. When the staff were busy, I used my coin to start undoing the screws in the hinges of the door. It was finger-breaking work at first. Took a lot of time to loosen those screws. But that’s OK – I’ve got a lot of time.

There’s another door out of the office to an adjoining office connecting to another ward. But it’s not used, ever. They’ve put filing cabinets in front of it. That was another mistake of theirs.

We go to our beds at night and the lights are put out and there’s no orderly at night. The office door is locked. But I got most of the screws out of the hinges. One night, it was really quiet, I just pushed the door hard on its hinge side, wiggled it, moved it around, and the door suddenly fell inwards, off its hinges. It didn’t take me by surprise. I’d been ready, and caught it before it fell. Got in the office. Moved the filing cabinets out of the way. The other door wasn’t even locked. Another mistake. Not that getting into the other office was really what I was after. Searched this office, trying to find stationery supplies that might be useful, but even they weren’t quite that stupid. Apart from the adhesive tape and some pencils. But the other door was interesting. There was a kind of carpet tack strip in the threshold of the door. There wasn’t any carpet, of course – the floor is covered in lino-like tiles. But the strip was there, held down with more screws.

Had to keep going back, night after night. Forcing the door back into place before lights on. But I got that metal strip, eventually. And, as the door was never used, no-one knew. I broke off what I needed, hid the rest. Not that it matters if they find it. I’ve got what I need.

Did the same thing with the strip as I did with the coin. Rubbed it on the stone. Always made it look casual, like the boredom of the place was driving me into delirium. Like you sometimes see with animals in zoos. I remember once seeing a tiger in a cage, just pacing, back and forth, back and forth. So I was just messing around, moving my hand, back and forth. Appearances. They didn’t know, under my palm, was the metal strip.

That metal strip is now sharp, a blade. Bound it with the tape into a bundle of the pencils, to make a handle. Now I’ve got my own shank, my own knife. I can prise things open, lift snecks, undo screws, force windows. And cut. Slice, hack, puncture, stab. I’m sure the tiger would approve.

They think they’re safe. They think I’m safe.

We're getting out tonight. Me and my knife.

So much for appearances.

The end.