Omar Redmond lines up his putter with the ball. It’s a misty morning on the green and the sun is just now peeking out over the tall hill. He takes a moment to breathe in the air, to smell of the fresh cut grass. A warm breeze that bats at the sleeves of his Polo shirt and cools the sweat on his freshly-trimmed sideburns.

This is the leisurely life of a free man. The life of someone who is not currently serving a twenty-six year prison sentence for first-degree murder. The life of someone who is not Omar Redmond.

Omar sighs and quits Wii golf. As the menu screen loads he glances through the bars of his cell. A guard named Mac is reading yesterday’s paper. Someone down the hall is taking a really long piss.

A reminder pops up on the screen: Why not take a break? There’s a picture of an open window leading out to an impossibly perfect world. It could be anywhere; a beautiful park, a serene forest, a city street. It’s tempting. Omar wonders what kind of person would choose to push a bunch of buttons in a dimly lit bedroom when they could be outside, enjoying the fruits of modern nature?

That’s someone he’d like to stab in the neck.

There aren’t any windows on Cell Block E, but Omar knows what lies beyond these walls. An endless desert wasteland. Burning heat pounding a scorched earth. Gila monsters and scorpions dying as they try to cross a busy interstate highway. A sign reads “Do not stop for hitchhikers.”

Omar spends a few minutes tinkering with the menu screen. What’s it going to be: tennis, bowling, or boxing? He’s played them all a thousand times. He wonders it’d be like to play with a friend, but Omar isn’t allowed to have a cellmate after he stabbed his last one in the ear for mumbling secrets in his sleep. No one could argue that the guy didn’t have it coming, but at times like this, Omar wishes that brain-dead Cliff was around to hammer on the nunchuck.

Boxing it is.

As Omar’s Mii beats the living shit out of a guy who looks a lot like Cell Block Guard Mac, he can’t help but think about what’s he’s going to do with his time after he’s done doing time.

The thoughts give him a giddy feeling in his stomach, one that he hasn’t felt since he poured a bucket of boiling grease over that bitch asshole cocksucker cashier at Arbys who wouldn’t give him a free chocolate shake even though he came in all the time and was totally good for it.

Omar punches and punches. When the time comes, he’s going to crawl out that open window and live in the blue beyond, parasailing and duck hunting and fucking women. He’s going to meet up with his son – who will be a man only a few years older than he was when he was sentenced – and the two of them will go fishing on a sundrenched lake and talk about the important things in life.

It’s a beautiful future, one that Omar hopes he’ll live to see. Until then there’s always snorting tits and jacking off to that Mii girl he created whose skin is perfect like a doll.