Shatter

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Chapter Three

I should be thankful.  This time, the punishment wasn’t physical, just mental.

I sit alone in my cage and replay the images.  The shot still rings in my ears, the shattering sound still twinkles around me as fragments of bone and layers of skin turn to glass.

I turn to my wall and scratch two more marks into the damp, grey stone.  One for the guard and one for the woman.  Then I think about the boy and add a scratch for him as well even though it wasn’t me who killed him directly, I still caused it.  Tally marks fill up brick after brick and for everyone, a person, a place, and a circumstance that led to me becoming a murderer.  The first started with my mother.

I don’t remember much about outside life, but I do remember the day I killed her.  I was only five or so.  We were out in the yard.  The sun was warm and the grass was green.  The sky was blue and I remember thinking how the clouds looked like pillows.  Birds chirped, and in the distance someone was cutting their grass.  Every time the wind blew, I could smell the scent of the freshly trimmed yard.  I remember everything about that day, about that place, but when it comes to mother, I only remember her in blurs.

Mother had just come out of the sliding glass door carrying a tray of tea for the two of us, or was it lemonade.  I ran up to her.  Her eyes- I think they were brown- sparkled.  I remember red.  I think it was the lipstick she wore.  Vaguely, I remember fussing over her smearing it on my cheek during a kiss, but I’m sure it’s a memory that I’ve made up.

The next thing I know, I’m listening to my mother scream and hearing an awful twinkling.  The sound of the lawnmower stopped and a moment later there was a man (I think).  He was yelling and sounded frantic but I was stunned.  Where had my mother gone?  I remember thinking that it was all a magic trick and that at any moment she would reappear.  Needless to say, she never magically reappeared.

The boss tells me I was bounced around in a few houses before he heard about my case and brought me back here.  According to him, I killed six people while I was being moved from place to place.  Including one five year old little boy.  I was moved into my cell the first night I was here and the first thing I did was put seven marks on the wall.  One for each of the six people and one for my mother.

Slowly but surely, in the fourteen years that I have been here, the marks have steadily increased in number but the impact each one has on me, never dulls.

I can’t bring myself to count them all.  I don’t want to know the actual number.

Somewhere in another cell a girl laughs.  Her she sounds carefree, happy, as if this place has no effect on her.  There was a feeling of jealousy that rose within me.  Why did she get to be happy?

She probably has someone with her.  I think bitterly.

Sometimes the boss puts two people in the same cell.  They have gifts that are either equal or opposite to the gift you have.  It’s always a boy and a girl pairing, I think the boss just wants them to procreate, but he never said so himself.  Naturally, the two usually grow pretty close since, you know, misery loves company, but it’s deeper than just boyfriend/girlfriend relationship, it’s a partnership.  It’s the one person that keeps you keeps you sane, the one person that shows you kindness, the one person that actually loves you.

I knew one pair in here, the guy could read minds and the girl could see auras.  They were tested on together at first, but after a while the boss grew tired of it and preferred to have the other one panicking inside the cell while he tested the other one.  The pair isn’t magical.  They can’t feel what each other feels or read each other’s minds.  They were just made as equals.  There are probably more in here than just those two, but I can never really be certain.

Usually when someone comes in here we’re all in misery for a few days.  You can feel it all in the air, more so than usual.  For a while there are cries and desperate pleas, then slowly, the will to escape lessens and the crying and begging become rare occurrences.   It’s heartbreaking, to be forced to listen as the human spirit is destroyed.

I told myself that I would get used to it, that I would learn to not care about the punishments, but I never do.

There are fourteen of us.  I know that much.  Every week, sometimes twice a week, a pair of guards come out and call a number and haul the person off.  I remember when it was just me and the first guy.  I remember watching him fight the guards as they took him away.  He was probably only six at the time but I thought he was heroic.

It’s rare that we get someone new.  The last one was a girl, her name was Kate.  I know her name was Kate because she would scream it anytime one of the guards called her Number Fourteen.  This went on for the first five times the guards came and got her.  The fifth time she was gone for a few days.  Just when I started thinking she was dead, the guards brought her back.  I remember seeing her body slumped over a man’s shoulder, her blonde hair clumped and stained with blood.  She never fought the guards again.  She became like the rest of us, mindlessly doing what we’re supposed to do because that was the only way to survive.

The boss never comes into the cell block.  It’s always just the guards but somehow he always knows what’s happening.  I’ve never seen cameras on any of the walls but something tells me they’re there.  I just try to do what I’m supposed to.  As much as I hate this place and hate how I live, I don’t want to die.  I just want to be free.  I want to touch grass because I’ve forgotten what it feels like.  I want to breathe fresh air instead of the feces filled stench that never ceases to disgust me.  I want to be free.

I lie down on the thin mattress and shift until I can’t feel the springs sticking into my back.  I curl my body into a fetal position and shove away the memories of those that I have hurt in the past and promise myself that they will be the last so long as I can help it.  I take a deep breath and fight the tears and eventually, I fall asleep.