Boundless disorder - (fiction)

Chapter -1

The smell of fresh paint hit my nose. It's always magnolia. Clinical, neutral and lifeless. Can it not be something exciting like purple? a bit of calming sea foam green? No. Magnolia. The cheapest colour of paint known to man. Bought in bulk, with the overwhelming sense of apathy. Looking across the room, there's a few empty metal seats, with four other people sitting around in a circle, looking shifty and having to sit a meter and a half apart from each other.  

Two of the individuals, one man with waist long greying hair, and a thick beard that would make any hipster swoon. Across from him, a woman with short red hair, biting the inside of her cheek and moving her feet like mini window wipers.  The man and woman was both in handcuffs. Bruises where forming on the woman's wrist, like she had been trying to break free from the cuffs for some time. The other two, where two older white men. One of the old dudes had a cane, and a heavy moustache covering two thin lips. Whilst the other had the thickest glasses i had ever seen. I am surprised that they even provided his prescription. They look so heavy, they seemed to outweigh his frail, tiny frame. If he took any steps, im sure the weight of his glasses would tip him over. This was my first meeting, forced to come here as part of my probation. Two police officers covered the corners of the small hall. Sitting cross legged and still, like exam invigilators. I grabbed the back of the metal chair, and scrapped it back and sat. I decided to stare anywhere, anywhere that wasn't the other beings in the room. I could feel the intense stares, I felt so awkward. I wanted to be anywhere, but here. 

The clanking of the metal handle resonated the hall, and a mid-aged woman, practically swished across the floor with her long green winter coat, short black bobbed hair and sharp features. It looked like she had never laughed one day in her whole life. She took the chair opposite me, her presence was so obnoxious, the imaginary scent of self-importance filled the room. "Right" her shrill voice vibrated and echoed off the walls. "You know why we are here today?"

No one answered. The windscreen wiper lady started to quiver, she let out a desperate squawk. "Okay. I guess I shall start, with a little introduction." "Welcome to the Murders Anonymous Meeting, otherwise known as MAM. I am Dorothy, and each one of you is here especially requested by your probation officers. In fact, each of your crime cases are the same bracket of severity and your support workers felt that this meeting would be beneficial in your recovery journey". 

As her words trailed off and died, the overwhelming sense of antipathy thickened the room. "Recovery?!" I nearly fell off my hard metal chair, as the handcuffed bearded man howled out of disbelief and contempt. "I chose this!" Spittle flying off down his neck and hairy chin. "I would choose what I did every time!"