Yummy

Author: Jayashree Srivatsan

Author Introduction: I am Jayashree Srivatsan a.k.a jaishvats and I blog at http://jaishwrites.blogspot.com I am an Indian currently residing in Singapore with my husband and my little boy. I have always been passionate about creative writing. I started blogging in 2010. Though it was initially for fun, blogging has now become an integral and serious part of my life. I have made a lot of online friends through this medium and that definitely is a huge motivation factor.I aspire publishing my work of fiction in print someday.

Story:

The cacophony of voices spewing filth and abuse, blended with the clanking sounds of mugs and plates, permeate the entire expanse of the dining area. Loud thuds from overturning tables and falling men rise from a corner. Perhaps a brawl is brewing up again.

Sounds!  Extremely loud sounds!

They reach my ears and transform almost instantaneously into nothingness. Some nerves have become totally impermeable now.

A spoon of the tasteless gravy reaches my numb taste buds, and a drop spills on my lap. I watch the red oil spreading slowly, causing a stain on my orange robe.

Orange! Sheryl’s favourite colour! A cringe forms on my face as a memory of the warmth I used to feel in her arms enfolds me. Ironically she was in her favourite orange flowered frock when I had found her that night at the street corner. The stain reminds me of her bleeding stab wounds and the way she had clung to me, fighting as best as she could to delay the closing of her eyelids .Perhaps she knew they would never open again.

The uniform had been given to me on my first day here at the Arlington State Penitentiary. Now, I have thinned down to almost half its size and it is clinging on loosely to my frail body. I am sitting alone on the dark green wooden bench that feels cold. As usual there is no one by my side.  They are ruthless convicts. Yet, they are terrified of some things in life. Like AIDS.

I am sure it must not have come from Sheryl. She was a hooker but she always played it safe. The needles and syringes that used to transcend me to a utopian trance of ecstasy should have stealthily diffused the virus into my veins. I had given up drugs because she forced me to.  Strange girl, Sheryl! Some of her beliefs were quite contradictory to her profession. Guess she had been too late in making me give them up. Anyways, what difference does it make now?

Day after tomorrow I, Bruce Tracy would be administered one final injection – the lethal one. Injections – They seem to be competing with one another to take my life. One went for the longer route and the other is going to be instant and quick!

He should have been in my place! That bastard! That brute of a man who thrust his knife into her again and again!  I had caught a good glimpse of the ghastly expression on his face that night.  I had been hunting for him like a werewolf. Had I succeeded, I would have ripped open his gut with my bare hands. Luckily for him, the police got to me before that. All evidence pointed against me. How could I kill Sheryl? MY SHERYL! May be, like many of them say, all this has a reason! Perhaps she is waiting for me! Somewhere!

The brawl keeps getting louder and suddenly the sounds subside. One side must have won.

The penitentiary is perennially quivering with tension and strife. There are some who have landed here purely due to a quirk of fate. Then there are the hardened criminals - Burly men sometimes sporting sinister-looking tattoos with their eyes spitting a whole lot of venom. Some of them even carry razors and pen knifes. They know how and where to procure them. Bloodshed is an unofficial component of the daily routine at Arlington.

“Bruce! We need to talk!” I look up and see Willis staring down at me with a very weird expression.

He occupies the seat opposite mine and looks around to make sure that none of the patrolling guards are at a earshot distance.

“Billy has made a plan for bustin’ outta here, man! Mike and Adam have been diggin’ that tunnel for over a month now. I hear it starts somewhere near the soccer ground.  The plan is to fly the coop tonite, buddy! I owe you man, for all that you did for me. I think you should go talk to Billy. This is a perfect chance Bruce! A perfect chance to get away! Flee.”

Willis looks around again to make sure that he has not caught the attention of any of the men in dark blue and makes a casual inconspicuous exit.

I deposit the plate at the collection counter and start walking towards my cell. Death row prisoners did not have to join the other inmates for work. Apart from the basic activities like eating, showering and sleeping, the only job one had was counting the minutes left to breathe ones last.

Today the others are also returning. Incessant rains have resulted in work getting called off.

I sit on the hard bed and stare at the ground. The shackles had been removed after the judgement but they had left a permanent deep blue scar that encircled my feet like an anklets.

“This is a perfect chance Bruce! A perfect chance to get away! Flee.” Willis words keep echoing in my head.

My thoughts turn to Billy. Billy the brawler! At six feet four inches, he was probably the tallest person in the entire prison. He was half way through his sentence for armed robbery. This had been his fourth and longest prison sentence.

I remember the first time I had met him. It had been my second day and I was seated at the lunch table. Suddenly I became aware of somebody standing behind me. I could not see who it was and something prevented me from turning back to find out. Yet, a feeling of absolute terror jolted down my spine. I sat glued to my seat , perfectly still.   I heard a snigger and a hard cold hand pressed on my shoulder. A stench of body odour stormed my nostrils as I felt long unruly hair brushing against my cheeks. Billy licked my neck a little above my right shoulder and said ‘Yummy! Really yummy! You seem to be one yummy bloody bitch” and he walked away.

A feeling of dread interspaced with shades of disgust engulfed my entire being. A premonition that this was only a prelude to a much more harrowing encounter crept up and spread like a wild creeper in my mind. The wait was not long. It happened two days later, in the showers.

I was standing facing the wall letting myself go in the cold splash of water against my face.

“Yummy” a disgruntled voice sneered from behind. I tried to turn and received a hard blow across my right jaw. Blood spat out from my mouth and got sprayed against the wet wall. My vision got blurred but I was clearly able to make out Billy’s naked figure standing over me with a menacing grin. A torrent of blows showered upon me mainly around my chest and abdomen. I perfectly knew what was coming but was in a vanquished state – physically and morally and in no position to defend myself. With a brutal and vicious force he raped me. I was almost knocked out unconscious yet I was perfectly aware of what was happening to me. The others in the shower were totally unperturbed by the sight or the groans coming from me as if it were a television running in a corner. Leaving me in a pool of blood he left saying “I was right! You are one helluva yummy bloody bitch”

Homosexual acts are an accepted routine within these walls akin to basic activities like eating and bathing. “Men” hook up with “Boys”. Apart from the sexual gratifications they sometimes develop intense strong relationships that last forever. Sometimes it is merely a display of superiority and power; an exploitation of the surrounding weaknesses.

But there are rules; Unwritten rules that everyone followed. No ‘Boy’ takes easily to his ‘Man’ messing up with another inmate. Taken ‘Boys’ are also never targeted. There were one or two exceptions like Billy who made his own rules. His modus operandi was simple – find a new target every now and then from amongst the new inmates; someone vulnerable and submissive. Then he would attack them once, be done with it and never approach them again. Not all new entrants triggered his liking. Only he knew what characteristics they possessed that attracted them to him. As days passed, I had become well verse with the otherwise general code of conduct. This knowledge had helped me protect a few newcomers like Willis and his tip off was a token of gratitude.

A distant rhythmic sound distracts my thoughts for a second. It must have started to rain. Water is dripping somewhere.

I look out of the window and take a glance at the barbed wire atop the high rise prison walls. A bald eagle is perched on it and is facing the world that stretched beyond. What constitutes the panorama subjected to its vision I wonder!

There have been some moments when I imagined about something out of the blue that would plummet me out of these corridors into the world outside. For a taste of freedom again!

A chance to live my life once more! A life where I decided what to wear, what to eat and above all what to do!  

A chance to be in some warm and bright place – far away from the darkness and rancid interiors that these grotesque walls encircled, where gun yielding men did not watch my every move!

But now- I don’t feel any such want or desire. In fact, I only have a feeling of impatience towards the impending execution; an intolerance for the remaining hours.

Even if I escaped, what sort of life would I be able to lead with the blood sucking virus plaguing inside of me?

By now, my belief in the unsurpassable distance between dreams and reality is quite firm.

Once successful at escaping, there was only one way for a fugitive to survive. More and more crimes!

I am here for a murder that I did not do and I have never actually been a part of any serious crimes. With my physical condition how would I survive?

The law does not take prison escapes lightly. The escaped convicts would be hounded and tracked down like animals.   

If I escaped and got caught again, the sentence would not change; there is nothing higher than capital punishment. In a death sentence, it’s the agonizing wait that is more torturous than the actual execution. Living with the knowledge of when you would die is the perfect definition of hell. I somehow sailed through that tormenting phase and am perfectly ready for salvation. I don’t want to change this chapter of my life. Let it end the way it was decided.

I actually don’t seem to have any reason to live either. My Sheryl is gone and there is no soul to cry for me. 

And escape at the mercy of Billy? Death is definitely a much more honourable choice.

Anger and rage fume up like wild fire inside of me. My knuckles turn white as I clench my fists.

That brute does not deserve a place outside.

I shudder at the thought of the wild rampage he would unleash if he was successful in getting out.

Men, young and old, teenagers and even kids would only appear as delicious flesh to that maniac.

I am aware of what happens after a foiled escape attempt. The ones involved are subjected to solitary confinement for weeks, and sometimes months. There would be absolutely no contact at all with the other inmates.

Breaking the heavy security at Arlington requires a whole lot of guts, exceptional intelligence and hard headed acumen. Guts, yes Billy would definitely have but the brains? I don’t think so. The chance of success for their plot is definitely very minimal.

He would be bundled off straight to solitary confinement chamber and the showers would be relieved of his barbaric acts.

Soon its lunch hour and my thoughts are still hovering over Billy and his plot to escape.

I hear a huge guffaw. Billy is seated at a table and laughing loudly. Every muscle on his massive body seems to be shaking separately. A timid looking guy probably in his early twenties is seated opposite to him in almost a crouching position.  Billy the brawler is busy bullying.

I close my eyes for a second.

I take a deep breath to confirm the decision to my own self. I then rise up from my seat and walk towards Edwin, one of the guards. One good thing to do before I die! A piece of revenge for a piece of peace!

 “Yummy” I say to myself.