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Meet Arya Flynn. She's a firecracker. Actually, she's just one angry chick. She's constantly in trouble with the cops for fighting and despite jail time, nothing seems to make her want to change. So, when the District Attorney's office are trialing​ a new offender's rehabilitation program, guess who is first on the list? Join Arya's journey through angry eyes, along with her ways of getting amusement, and see if she can actually fight through that anger and make peace with herself.

Humor / Action
5.0 9 reviews
Age Rating:

Chapter One

“Get your freakin’ hands off me, you filthy piece of pig scum!!”

I’m pushed hard in the back and my arms, which are cuffed behind my back incidentally, are grabbed even harder. I guess the cops don’t trust me. That thought makes me smirk. One of the cops walking next to me notices my smirk and his brows knit together, a look of concern crosses his features as he says, “Rogers? The cuffs on tight enough?”

The cuffs are tightened, but I keep the smirk on my face, not showing any sign of weakness or pain.

I sweetly ask, “What’s the matter, Palmer? You scared of me?”

Palmer shoots me a look out the corner of his eye as he replies, “Not scared of you, but after the last time? Let’s just say I’m wary.”

I chuckle at the memory. It must have been a few weeks ago when that particular event happened. The cops picked me up for fighting and hauled me in, except on the way into the station I slipped my cuffs and did a runner before they even noticed. Palmer, the arresting cop, must have taken the fall for it. Not that I care, but it does amuse me.

Rogers is Palmer’s partner and he grabs my arm even tighter like he’s expecting me to run. Can’t say I blame him for that though. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve escaped from these two or the cops in general. As they take me in for processing, I keep that smug smirk on my face, hiding all my emotions. I’m not scared. Actually, I don’t really have any feelings on the matter. To be honest, being in holding or being shoved in jail is probably better than my current and previous places of abode.

Palmer steps up to the desk and says to the cop behind it, “Ariya Flynn... again.”

I snort, “Come on Palmer, admit it, you missed me.”

He sighs, trying not to react to my digs. “I’d be happier if you kept out of trouble, Ariya. You’re getting too old for this. There’s only so many times you’ll be allowed out.”

“Too old? You hear that Rogers? If I’m getting old then you must be ancient... You gonna let him talk about you like that? I’d knock him out for that if I was you...”

Rogers shoots me daggers as he says, “That’s what landed you in here in the first place, Ariya. Besides, your hands are cuffed, you won’t be knocking anyone out for a while...”

I let out in a sing-song voice, “That’s what you think...”

The cop behind the desk, I don’t recognize him, says, “What’s she in for?”

“She punched a guy. She claims he was grabbing her inappropriately. We didn’t see that, but we’ve sent a unit with him to the hospital. I think his nose is broken...”

I growl, “I’d have done a lot worse if you didn’t throw me off him. He was grabbing my butt! You think that’s acceptable?!”

I hear Rogers mumble, “You were probably asking for it...”

Quicker than the cops can react, I shrug out of their hold and charge at Rogers. It doesn’t matter that my hands are behind my back. I thrash around and send my body flying into Rogers’, knocking him onto the floor with me on top of him. I manage to knock the wind out of him enough that I can scramble up before he does. After I’m standing, there’s a tiny moment of pause before Palmer and a few other cops descend on me. I could have kicked Rogers’ face in, but I’m not completely stupid. I know they’d book me for a charge worse than I’m already in for.

When the cops feel like I’m under control, (not that I wasn’t in control of myself in the first place, but whatever), Palmer nearly shouts at me, “What the heck was that for?!”

“Let me guess, you didn’t hear his comment? Well, there’s a shocker. You’re all the same. You all stick up for each other. I’m telling you, that guy grabbed me and I was just defending myself. And contrary to what Rogers here believes, no, I wasn’t asking for it. Just book me and get on with it. I’m sick of the sight of you all.”

Palmer sighs, shoots a glare at Rogers and then leads me back to a cell.

He puts me in the cell and locks the door before he tells me to back up so he can remove my cuffs through the bars. I guess he really doesn’t trust me. Before he leaves, he shoots me a strange look and he says, “Despite what you think, not all cops are the same.”

So, he did hear Rogers’ remark, but he didn’t say anything about it. I don’t know if his silence on the matter is worse than the comment itself.

“Not cops.”

He looks confused and he questions, “Who?”

“People. Men. You’re all the same. Everyone is scum.”

His eyebrows shoot up in shock at my revelation. “You’re a person as well...”

“Really?! Here’s me thinking I was an alien.”

“Why do you always do that? You have to come out with some wisecrack. Why can’t you just be real for one minute?”

“I was real. When I punched that jerk out on the street and when I body tackled your partner. That’s real, just ask them.”

“If we’re all scum, why are you so different?”

“I never said I was.”

With that last remark, I walk away from him and sit on the bench, as far away from the world as I can get.

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