Page 46 of Babalon

In front of me, just off to the right, a commotion catches my attention. Nothing like a little show for the new group, I suppose. What began as a heated discussion has now morphed into something much more entertaining.

I keep my eyes on them while most of the other inmates stay in their seats except for a few that do not want anything to do with the show. They put their trays away and leave before the guards can rush the two men dueling it out just ahead of me; the sound of squelching from a stabbed object making me smirk and pull my attention away from my food.

That sound gives me chills.

“That’s why you let them skinheads fuck you raw in the shower you goddamn traitor!” One man belts out.

“The kinfolk knew you were letting that white fucker dick you down, and now that we know why, you’re as good as dead,” another said in a calmer manner.

Wow, talk about dramatics.

A few more stabs land in the abdomen of their new enemy, spraying blood out across the floor and flooding the man's jumper with red.

“Hey!”

‘Here comes the sun, doo do do doo,’ I sing internally, guards rushing around the tables packed with prisoners over to the ongoing fight. My spoon steadily introducing bite after bite of food to my waiting mouth.

It’s going to be fun here.

When the theatrics are all over, and the cafeteria is cleared out, I put my tray away and walk over to the crime scene. There are pools, droplets, and sprays of blood everywhere. The custodial crew, if Darkwater even has one, has yet to arrive and clean up the biohazard. The homemade shank still lying on the floor from when the guards tackled the main assailant. Stepping over to it, I crouch down and snatch it up.

I may need it later.

It is sturdy with a thick handle that won’t slide very easy if it gets fluid on it. It’s made from a mix of wax and fabric, then the end of it is a broken kitchen utensil sharpened into a jagged point. My guess, it is from a spoon since knives aren’t allowed in here and the ones in the kitchen are likely chained to the tables. Making them near impossible to move, let alone make a weapon.

Pocketing the shiv, I take a moment to look around at all the blood. It is beautiful, splattered and smeared around in different arrays of patterns and concentrations. This is what gives humans life, what keeps their bodies from breaking down, and moves oxygen from one cell to another then back to the heart and lungs. The human body is amazing when considering what it can endure. Everything from psychological torture, physical brain damage, shredded limbs, the loss of blood, to cancer that eats away at a person's bones.

They’re amazing, we’re amazing.

Humans have the capability to bounce back from any illness if they have the means to fight through it. There are only a few things the body can’t endure, and I look forward to finding out what those things are, whether that be in here or outside as a free man. My days of cleansing the globe are far from over.

With a slight lean, I swipe my hand through the blood and bring it up to my nose, inhaling deeply to the point I can nearly taste its metallic tang. The coagulated globs leave myoglobinalong my fingers to the point I now itch to lick the crimson from my skin.

If today’s any indication of how my stay is going to be, I am happy to be here.

Welcome to Darkwater Correctional Institute, indeed.

Chapter fourteen

Lucien

Past - 5 years old

“London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. London bridge is fall…ing… down… my… fair… la—dy.”

She’s going quiet again; she only does this when she has had too much of the fire water or when daddy has put the poison in her veins again. I squeeze out of her hold while she sinks lower onto my bed, in my tiny room. Looking down at her, my brows furrow. I don’t like it when she goes sleepy like this; it makes my heart sad. She is so pretty though, mommy is. She has dark hair like me and the same color of eyes. Daddy says I’m her copy; I would love to be a copy of her, just without the fire and poison.

All that I have in my room is a bare mattress on the floor and my blankie along with a couple shirts, a pair of pants, a pair of socks, and a single pair of sneakers sitting by the door. For when daddy says I must change my clothes. Mommy gets me a new shirt sometimes with superheroes on them; I want to be a superhero one day save all boys and girls from bad men and have all the noodles in the world.

Noodles are my favorite.

Crawling around her, I can see she isn’t moving and there is blood coming from her arm again. Grabbing my blankie, I wipe away the red stuff and sit down crisscross-apple-sauce next to her, listening for daddy outside of my bedroom door. He is mad today and locked us in here, which is nice. The church man said that daddy’s anger is no good and must go away, so he puts us in here to save us. When he is mad, he is really mean to mommy and me—gives us owwies.

“Mama?” I whisper, reaching to play with some of her dark hair.

Nothing.

“Mama, wake up.”

---