The Wrecking Yard (fanfic continued)
The following morning came. The man with the salt and pepper hair woke up before Varon. He peered toward the youth's cell to find the thick brown locks peeking out from under the covers. He gave a small smile. At least the boy had his dreams to keep him safe and waking him would tear him from his dreams. It was all they had left. To sleep was a freedom within the mind that they were the masters of their world within.
He sat at his bunk and leaned forward. If he couldn't protect the kid up close, he could at the very least protect him from those that threatened him at a distance. The lights flickered on. The guards walked in in groups of two and in rows of five. It was time for the morning routine. Showering was the hardest time for the kid. One guard hit the bars to Varon's cell loudly.
"Oy, boy! Time to wake up!" The guard wasn't much different than Birke in attitude and Varon always got those types.
Varon's head raised quickly out of reflex but his eyes slowly opened. Still, he made no sound.
"Aw, look. He looks like one of those baby animals that got spooked." The guard jeered.
Varon sighed and rolled out of the hard bunk. He stretched before standing. He grabbed his shower kit and his toothbrush, towel and spare jumpsuit. In silence, Varon waited until his cell door was opened. Ten guards, twenty prisoners in this block, Varon hated this part of the day. Mornings were rough and that was only the start of it.
This prison was split into three areas. There were the petty crimes repeat offenders that no amount of social work can rehabilitate. These were the thieves and the bad check writers. These people didn't need as much supervision. The second area is where the drug dealers and armed robbers were housed. These prisoners are serving terms of 5 to 15 years. Lastly, there are the murders, rapists and sociopaths. Varon was put in this group for defending the only place he called home and in a blind rage accidentally killing the 4 men responsible for destroying his only home.
His trial wasn't a trial at all. He didn't speak. His mind recoiled back to that day. Could he have said anything in his defense? What could he say to make the judge understand his crime was justified? Instead, he froze. Unable to speak. Unable to find the words that could remotely describe his actions only meant incriminating himself even further into the pit of dark justice. Was it even possible he performed this crime at all? To say that he didn't do it would have only angered those around him.
At least he has a roof, clothes and three meals but at what cost? His freedom was ripped away before he had the chance to give his side of the story. There was no way to defend himself without the proof needed for his innocence. Was he innocent at all?
The sound of the keys turning in the heavy lock and the metallic clang alerted and pulled Varon back to reality with a start. This moment now, he needed to be on his guard the most.
"Come on." The guard waved Varon out.
Varon clutched his items close and took his place in line. Despite not having many possessions the things he does have he protects. The man with the salt and pepper hair took his place behind Varon.
He looked to the back of Varon's head. The youth stood to the man's shoulders, that is, from the tip of the tallest lock of hair. Varon was much smaller than his hair made him appear. Varon was in isolation at the time the man with the salt and pepper hair arrived. He wondered why a child was put into the pit with murders. Now wasn't the time to ask.
The guards pushed the group forward toward the showers. It was nothing more than a tile covered room with water spouts jutting out if the wall in three sides with benches in the center for their belongings. It certainly wasn't an inviting place to be. It was very open and the lack of privacy often meant the jokes went around. The guards were there to make sure that no one got any bright ideas but that only went as far as the twisted minds of some. Most of the guards there were often sent out from the mainland due to disciplinary issues anyway so the system never knew what went on here.
This place, this prison was nothing more than a dumping zone for degenerates. Often times than not, they were simply forgotten. No visitors were allowed. No way out. No escape. This place made most feel hopeless and the only way the prisoners are kept from entertained was through dirty jokes and old, censored media.
Varon never watched television that much. He often thought over and over again the scenario that took place that jerked him from his freedom.
A heavy shove pushed Varon away from his spot as a bigger man took his area. "Move it, squirt."
Varon slipped and hit the floor, bruising his hip. With a wince, Varon stood up only to be pushed down again. The more he tried to move, the more the others made to keep him down. It was a pecking order and Varon soon found himself engaged in a fight to keep himself from losing his temper. Varon hated that no one cared. It hardened him just a bit more to stand up and push the other back. This action sparked another fight which caused the guards, who had seen it all take place before Varon stood up for himself, to take action against the youth.
Varon felt the grip of the guard's hands firmly on his arm just before the shackles were clamped down. Varon and his belongings were gathered and taken out of the room. This was an everyday routine. Of course, the guards would take the side of the other prisoners. It was little wonder why Varon never trusted authority figures.
Varon was led away into another room with two guards standing watch as he dressed. One guard, Varon pegged quickly as being the senior of the two. "Go on ahead, I'll keep watch."
"You sure? He's a handful, that one." The other said.
"I'm sure." He motioned with his head for the other to leave. The second guard left without another word as the first turned his attention back to Varon, removing the shackles so he could dress. "They say you're the scrapper that took out those 4 blokes in Melbourne during the church fire. Why?"
Varon zipped up his jumper with a shrug. He didn't have any words. Everyone knew the story so why was this guy asking? It was all over the papers. Either this guard couldn't read or he missed out on the party.
"You don't know?" The guard said taking Varon's shrug as a common childish response. "So you're tellin' me that Casper did it, is that it?"
The guard's response felt like needles under Varon's skin. It was a prickly situation to begin with.
"They say you're the quiet one and you lose your temper quickly. I have a bit of advice for ya. If ya wanna live to your 18th I advise that you buck up and speak out or these jokers are gonna eat you alive."
Varon sighed and closed his eyes after slipping on his socks. "Society eats people alive."
The guard had never heard his voice until now. It was a slight surprise but at least now the guard can confirm that he's not a mute. "That it can. What I wanna know is why you did it."
Varon withdrew again and slipped his feet inside the rubber shoes. The moment of silence was broken with a loud clatter of something hitting the wall. The guard looked over his shoulder and the noise even caught Varon's attention. The guard turned back to Varon who was now on his feet at the ready with his fist clinched. The guard could tell instantly that Varon was always on guard which spurred a silence within the guard. The poor kid. He doesn't know a moment's peace.
"They took everything...and they'll do the same here." Varon said quietly.
The guard snapped his head toward Varon. A sense of astonishment and pity washed over the guard. Still, the emotional damage was already done. Varon spoke deliberately just as his actions did. Everything about him was with a purpose. "Who?"
"Everybody." Varon gathered his belongings and waited for the guard.
----------------
Now playing: Switchblade Symphony - Clown
http://foxytunes.com/artist/switchblade+symphony/track/clown
He sat at his bunk and leaned forward. If he couldn't protect the kid up close, he could at the very least protect him from those that threatened him at a distance. The lights flickered on. The guards walked in in groups of two and in rows of five. It was time for the morning routine. Showering was the hardest time for the kid. One guard hit the bars to Varon's cell loudly.
"Oy, boy! Time to wake up!" The guard wasn't much different than Birke in attitude and Varon always got those types.
Varon's head raised quickly out of reflex but his eyes slowly opened. Still, he made no sound.
"Aw, look. He looks like one of those baby animals that got spooked." The guard jeered.
Varon sighed and rolled out of the hard bunk. He stretched before standing. He grabbed his shower kit and his toothbrush, towel and spare jumpsuit. In silence, Varon waited until his cell door was opened. Ten guards, twenty prisoners in this block, Varon hated this part of the day. Mornings were rough and that was only the start of it.
This prison was split into three areas. There were the petty crimes repeat offenders that no amount of social work can rehabilitate. These were the thieves and the bad check writers. These people didn't need as much supervision. The second area is where the drug dealers and armed robbers were housed. These prisoners are serving terms of 5 to 15 years. Lastly, there are the murders, rapists and sociopaths. Varon was put in this group for defending the only place he called home and in a blind rage accidentally killing the 4 men responsible for destroying his only home.
His trial wasn't a trial at all. He didn't speak. His mind recoiled back to that day. Could he have said anything in his defense? What could he say to make the judge understand his crime was justified? Instead, he froze. Unable to speak. Unable to find the words that could remotely describe his actions only meant incriminating himself even further into the pit of dark justice. Was it even possible he performed this crime at all? To say that he didn't do it would have only angered those around him.
At least he has a roof, clothes and three meals but at what cost? His freedom was ripped away before he had the chance to give his side of the story. There was no way to defend himself without the proof needed for his innocence. Was he innocent at all?
The sound of the keys turning in the heavy lock and the metallic clang alerted and pulled Varon back to reality with a start. This moment now, he needed to be on his guard the most.
"Come on." The guard waved Varon out.
Varon clutched his items close and took his place in line. Despite not having many possessions the things he does have he protects. The man with the salt and pepper hair took his place behind Varon.
He looked to the back of Varon's head. The youth stood to the man's shoulders, that is, from the tip of the tallest lock of hair. Varon was much smaller than his hair made him appear. Varon was in isolation at the time the man with the salt and pepper hair arrived. He wondered why a child was put into the pit with murders. Now wasn't the time to ask.
The guards pushed the group forward toward the showers. It was nothing more than a tile covered room with water spouts jutting out if the wall in three sides with benches in the center for their belongings. It certainly wasn't an inviting place to be. It was very open and the lack of privacy often meant the jokes went around. The guards were there to make sure that no one got any bright ideas but that only went as far as the twisted minds of some. Most of the guards there were often sent out from the mainland due to disciplinary issues anyway so the system never knew what went on here.
This place, this prison was nothing more than a dumping zone for degenerates. Often times than not, they were simply forgotten. No visitors were allowed. No way out. No escape. This place made most feel hopeless and the only way the prisoners are kept from entertained was through dirty jokes and old, censored media.
Varon never watched television that much. He often thought over and over again the scenario that took place that jerked him from his freedom.
A heavy shove pushed Varon away from his spot as a bigger man took his area. "Move it, squirt."
Varon slipped and hit the floor, bruising his hip. With a wince, Varon stood up only to be pushed down again. The more he tried to move, the more the others made to keep him down. It was a pecking order and Varon soon found himself engaged in a fight to keep himself from losing his temper. Varon hated that no one cared. It hardened him just a bit more to stand up and push the other back. This action sparked another fight which caused the guards, who had seen it all take place before Varon stood up for himself, to take action against the youth.
Varon felt the grip of the guard's hands firmly on his arm just before the shackles were clamped down. Varon and his belongings were gathered and taken out of the room. This was an everyday routine. Of course, the guards would take the side of the other prisoners. It was little wonder why Varon never trusted authority figures.
Varon was led away into another room with two guards standing watch as he dressed. One guard, Varon pegged quickly as being the senior of the two. "Go on ahead, I'll keep watch."
"You sure? He's a handful, that one." The other said.
"I'm sure." He motioned with his head for the other to leave. The second guard left without another word as the first turned his attention back to Varon, removing the shackles so he could dress. "They say you're the scrapper that took out those 4 blokes in Melbourne during the church fire. Why?"
Varon zipped up his jumper with a shrug. He didn't have any words. Everyone knew the story so why was this guy asking? It was all over the papers. Either this guard couldn't read or he missed out on the party.
"You don't know?" The guard said taking Varon's shrug as a common childish response. "So you're tellin' me that Casper did it, is that it?"
The guard's response felt like needles under Varon's skin. It was a prickly situation to begin with.
"They say you're the quiet one and you lose your temper quickly. I have a bit of advice for ya. If ya wanna live to your 18th I advise that you buck up and speak out or these jokers are gonna eat you alive."
Varon sighed and closed his eyes after slipping on his socks. "Society eats people alive."
The guard had never heard his voice until now. It was a slight surprise but at least now the guard can confirm that he's not a mute. "That it can. What I wanna know is why you did it."
Varon withdrew again and slipped his feet inside the rubber shoes. The moment of silence was broken with a loud clatter of something hitting the wall. The guard looked over his shoulder and the noise even caught Varon's attention. The guard turned back to Varon who was now on his feet at the ready with his fist clinched. The guard could tell instantly that Varon was always on guard which spurred a silence within the guard. The poor kid. He doesn't know a moment's peace.
"They took everything...and they'll do the same here." Varon said quietly.
The guard snapped his head toward Varon. A sense of astonishment and pity washed over the guard. Still, the emotional damage was already done. Varon spoke deliberately just as his actions did. Everything about him was with a purpose. "Who?"
"Everybody." Varon gathered his belongings and waited for the guard.
----------------
Now playing: Switchblade Symphony - Clown
http://foxytunes.com/artist/switchblade+symphony/track/clown