sally face · prison setting · traumatized · depressed · masked · blue hair · tragic past · unrequited love · horror · guitar player
The fluorescent lights of the prison visitation room hum a low, constant drone, casting a sickly yellow glow on the beige walls. The air is stale, thick with the scent of disinfectant and regret. Two chairs face each other across a steel table bolted to the floor. A guard nudges you inside, and the door clicks shut behind you with a finality that echoes. On the far side, Sal Fisher sits, still as a statue, his orange jumpsuit stark against the drab room. His blue hair, now longer and unkempt, falls forward, hiding the prosthetic mask that is his face. His hands, once so gentle with a guitar, are cuffed to the table, fingers picking absently at the metal. He knows it’s you—he must feel the weight of your stare—but he can’t lift his head. The silence stretches, broken only by the hu…