Page 44 of Babalon

How quaint, they have a rehearsed welcome message for everyone.

Reaching out, I maintain eye contact with the officer while I grab the items he pushed across the countertop. His dark-colored orbs holding my stare as if he were trying to intimidate me; good luck. I have done this enough times to know all their little scare tactics. I’ve also been through enough in my life that this guy wasn’t about to put the fear of God in me, no matter how hard he tries.

Jail is the least of my concerns. To me, this is just a hotel stay.

My Pops made sure I was a devout man, and no one can pry the Lord from my hands nor make me fear my savior; the one that was going to save me from an eternity of damnation.

When the officer finally breaks eye contact, I walk over to the small room he intends for me to change in. Closing the door behind me with a soft click, I lock it and start peeling the layers off my body, the fabric falling to the dirt-stained tile floor.

Once I stand bare before the metal mirror, my head tilts to the right as I look over the scars and tattoos that litter my body. My back, covered in old, self-inflicted whipping marks, evidence of the countless time spent atoning for my sins. My wrists mirroring the damage from the nights where I nearly let myself bleed out.

They say the body is a temple and to not scar it, but the Lord said to punish the wicked, and I am as wicked as they come. Ithrive on the pain, on the violence, and on seeing others suffer for little to no reason–that is why I am here.

I was convicted of premeditated murder while trying to appease my savior—ridding this world of sinners. I just happened to get caught. Well, actually, I volunteered to come to prison; I want to be here. That’s where the premeditated part comes in. My victim, as they call him, was selected out of a pool of others. Someone who met my criteria for being wiped off God's green Earth.

I came to the great state of Michigan to do it. A man of prominent stature was leading the flock astray, brainwashing his congregation; he had to be removed. It also just so happens that someone I knew long ago was a guard here, and I am dying to see them. Well, really, I wasn’t, but others were.

Losing track of time, the harsh sound of a fist slams against the door and yanks me from my thoughts.

“Hurry the fuck up, inmate,” a man belts through the wood barrier.

I turn and look at the back of it without saying anything. People are always in such a rush nowadays; maybe I need to teach him a little lesson on slowing down and enjoying the finer things in life.

Like not bothering me, we can start there.

Snatching my new clothes off the bench, where I placed them on when I first came into the room, I pull on the thin boxers and the white shirt, followed by my jumper which I zip up to my sternum, finishing off my new ensemble with the change of socks and shoes.

I now look like the rest of them, outside of the stringy and unkempt black strands of hair that brush over my forehead. I am going to fit right in with the rest of my brethren, the sinners, and the black sheep.

Folding my clothes up, I don’t bother checking my appearance again as vanity is a sin. Instead, I open the door and step past the officer who now stands too close for comfort.

“Took you long enough, freak. Get back to the counter and finish turning your items in. I have shit to do and can’t be escorting you around all day.”

He won’t get a response out of me. I’m more controlled than that.

Moving back over to the counter, I exchange my clothing for my freedom.

“You all squared away, inmate?” the first officer, Officer Kepner, asked.

“I am.”

“Very well, follow Officer Clark out, and he will take you to your cell. Make the most of your time here, and again, welcome to Darkwater Correctional Institute.”

Following the one deemed ‘Officer Clark’ with another guard at my back, I make my way to the group of other newly inducted inmates who were transported with me. We we all line up against a wall, at the far side of the room, as a few other guards stalk around ensuring no one gets too excited and starts to act out.

If they did, I hope they take Clark out first— I bet he bleeds pretty.

“Alright inmates, we are about to head through the next checkpoint. From here on out, if you deviate from this line, you will be reprimanded, and my men have the authority to use whatever force is necessary to get you back in line. Do us a huge favor and keep it fucking straight, and we will get you to your cells before lunch.”

Hmmm.

They’re hands-on here. I’ll need to get a few things prepared when I get to my cell. Hopefully, I am with someone who keepstheir head down and says nothing. I’d hate to have to remove his wagging tongue from his mouth.

A couple of moments later, the line begins to move, then we step through another gate, moving deeper into the belly of the prison to a great room with several hallways branching in every direction. Some of them labeled with ‘library, medical, administration, cafeteria’ etcetera. The ones that were attached to the blocks have large letters plastered above the center of each corridor.

The entire prison is shaped like a snowflake, like the classic Eastern State Penitentiary, an amazing piece of American history. This place must have been built around the same era, then modernized as time passed. The solid stone structure, looking like a castle set back in the gloom of fog and hills, has to be sitting on top of a spiderweb of basement tunnels where staff would confine more inmates when the land ran out of space for expansion and the architect had no choice but to move underground.

Darkwater is fascinating, to say the least.

---