Fallen Angel
Just a warning to anyone interested; the story behind the cut is not a happy one. I imagine it could easily fall under the rating of R for violent situations, even if they are in past tense.
I would also like to state that this story is in *no* way a reflection of my personal life. Not even close. I live quite a happy and safe life in Small Town, Wisconsin where (I hope) a situation like this would be rare to the point of nonexistence. It's just a little scene my psyche came up with when I was in a particularly bloody (and PMSing) mood a week or so ago. So, yeah, consider yourself warned.
Also, sorry for the spelling errors. I ran out of time to spell check it due to this pesky Physics midterm I have in 10 minutes. :)
Most of the inmates at Baytown Penitentiary barely even gave new girl that had just been transferred from Agaton a second glance, but those who did noticed something off about the girl. She may have been pretty once; small and thin, appearing to be no more then 19 years old and pale to the point where she almost blended in with the chipped and soap-scum stained tile walls and floor of the prison washroom... It looked as if a strong wind could have blown the child over, which was a far cry from dark, muscle-bound hard asses that made up a majority of the rest of the prison populace. But one look into the girl's dark and empty eyes told anyone who noticed that there was an undertone of steel beneath that pale and fragile exterior.
She turned the water she had been showering under off and turned to grab her towel, only to find her way blocked by a large and imposing woman wearing blue short-sleeved prison fatigues, grotesque tattoos covering both her meaty arms. Two smaller women in similar garb stood behind behind the first, one at each shoulder of the women in the lead. Obviously this woman saw the girl as nothing more then fresh meat, either too stupid to understand what the dead look in the girl's eyes meant, or too confident in herself to give a damn.
One arm crossed over her ample chest, the woman at the front meticulously held out her other hand and dropped the bar of soap it had been holding on the floor at the girl's feet. That task done, she recrossed her arms and ordered, "Pick it up."
The girl made no move to follow the woman's orders. "Pick up your own damn soap," she mumbled instead as she tried to push past the older woman and her lackeys, reaching for the towel she had left hanging next to her shower.
One beefy, tattoo-covered arm shot out and roughly pushed the girl back into the shower compartment. "I said," the woman continued menacingly, "Pick it up."
The girl glared back, her cold, dead eyes gaining an even sharper icy edge. "And what will you do if I don't," she asked in a voice that was as cold as her eyes, "use me as a punching bag?"
By this time a small crowd had gathered around the pair, and the woman obviously couldn't take the hint everyone else could plainly see radiating from the girl's eyes. Even her lackeys had backed off a few feet. Oblivious to the danger she was in, the woman shifted forward on her feet a little and reached out to either grab the girl or to hit her. Before she could even touch the girl's damp and bare skin, however, there was a flash of movement as the girl lashed out with both her hands, grabbed the woman around her wrist and used her own forward momentum to flip the woman on her back into the puddle of water around the drain. She then firmly planted her knee in the center of the woman's chest and her arm across the woman's throat, using her entire body weight to hold her in place.
"I'm used to being used in such a way," the girl whispered venomously, meeting the shocked eyes of the woman beneath her from mere inches away. "My father used me as one for 18 years of my life. It was only a matter of time before I learned to punch back." Her voice remained low as she continued, "But then he started praying upon my mother or my little sister, who couldn't fight back. He used them to get to me... For every punch I gave him, he would in turn give either of them three. Or five. Or ten. Or more, depending on what kind of mood he was in. So I stopped fighting back."
Water dripped from the girls still naked form onto the woman's cloths, spotting the areas that were still dry with darker blue dots. "But that wasn't all he did. When he tired of my mother, he came to me at night, to use as a punching bag as well as a sex toy. Again, I tried to fight back, only to have him take it out on my mother and sister again. So I let him use me as he wished... anything to spare the rest of my family... And every time he came to me, I died a little inside. He killed me until there was nothing left but hate for him eating me from the inside out... But then one night he came and found more then he had bargained for and ended up with a knife in his back."
"He never got caught," she paused to press a little harder against the woman's throat, "I did."
With that the girl leaned back on her toes, removing her arm from the woman's throat and picking up the bar of soap from where it lay in a puddle of water next to her head as she stood. "Here's your fucking soap," she said coldly as she tossed the bar onto the woman's chest where her knee had been planted a moment before. Then she turned and grabbed her towel, wrapping it around herself as she walked out of the shower room, not looking back once.
Edit - 6:33 pm
It has now been spell checked. I blame any other spelling or grammar errors on the goblins who live in my computer.
I would also like to state that this story is in *no* way a reflection of my personal life. Not even close. I live quite a happy and safe life in Small Town, Wisconsin where (I hope) a situation like this would be rare to the point of nonexistence. It's just a little scene my psyche came up with when I was in a particularly bloody (and PMSing) mood a week or so ago. So, yeah, consider yourself warned.
Also, sorry for the spelling errors. I ran out of time to spell check it due to this pesky Physics midterm I have in 10 minutes. :)
Most of the inmates at Baytown Penitentiary barely even gave new girl that had just been transferred from Agaton a second glance, but those who did noticed something off about the girl. She may have been pretty once; small and thin, appearing to be no more then 19 years old and pale to the point where she almost blended in with the chipped and soap-scum stained tile walls and floor of the prison washroom... It looked as if a strong wind could have blown the child over, which was a far cry from dark, muscle-bound hard asses that made up a majority of the rest of the prison populace. But one look into the girl's dark and empty eyes told anyone who noticed that there was an undertone of steel beneath that pale and fragile exterior.
She turned the water she had been showering under off and turned to grab her towel, only to find her way blocked by a large and imposing woman wearing blue short-sleeved prison fatigues, grotesque tattoos covering both her meaty arms. Two smaller women in similar garb stood behind behind the first, one at each shoulder of the women in the lead. Obviously this woman saw the girl as nothing more then fresh meat, either too stupid to understand what the dead look in the girl's eyes meant, or too confident in herself to give a damn.
One arm crossed over her ample chest, the woman at the front meticulously held out her other hand and dropped the bar of soap it had been holding on the floor at the girl's feet. That task done, she recrossed her arms and ordered, "Pick it up."
The girl made no move to follow the woman's orders. "Pick up your own damn soap," she mumbled instead as she tried to push past the older woman and her lackeys, reaching for the towel she had left hanging next to her shower.
One beefy, tattoo-covered arm shot out and roughly pushed the girl back into the shower compartment. "I said," the woman continued menacingly, "Pick it up."
The girl glared back, her cold, dead eyes gaining an even sharper icy edge. "And what will you do if I don't," she asked in a voice that was as cold as her eyes, "use me as a punching bag?"
By this time a small crowd had gathered around the pair, and the woman obviously couldn't take the hint everyone else could plainly see radiating from the girl's eyes. Even her lackeys had backed off a few feet. Oblivious to the danger she was in, the woman shifted forward on her feet a little and reached out to either grab the girl or to hit her. Before she could even touch the girl's damp and bare skin, however, there was a flash of movement as the girl lashed out with both her hands, grabbed the woman around her wrist and used her own forward momentum to flip the woman on her back into the puddle of water around the drain. She then firmly planted her knee in the center of the woman's chest and her arm across the woman's throat, using her entire body weight to hold her in place.
"I'm used to being used in such a way," the girl whispered venomously, meeting the shocked eyes of the woman beneath her from mere inches away. "My father used me as one for 18 years of my life. It was only a matter of time before I learned to punch back." Her voice remained low as she continued, "But then he started praying upon my mother or my little sister, who couldn't fight back. He used them to get to me... For every punch I gave him, he would in turn give either of them three. Or five. Or ten. Or more, depending on what kind of mood he was in. So I stopped fighting back."
Water dripped from the girls still naked form onto the woman's cloths, spotting the areas that were still dry with darker blue dots. "But that wasn't all he did. When he tired of my mother, he came to me at night, to use as a punching bag as well as a sex toy. Again, I tried to fight back, only to have him take it out on my mother and sister again. So I let him use me as he wished... anything to spare the rest of my family... And every time he came to me, I died a little inside. He killed me until there was nothing left but hate for him eating me from the inside out... But then one night he came and found more then he had bargained for and ended up with a knife in his back."
"He never got caught," she paused to press a little harder against the woman's throat, "I did."
With that the girl leaned back on her toes, removing her arm from the woman's throat and picking up the bar of soap from where it lay in a puddle of water next to her head as she stood. "Here's your fucking soap," she said coldly as she tossed the bar onto the woman's chest where her knee had been planted a moment before. Then she turned and grabbed her towel, wrapping it around herself as she walked out of the shower room, not looking back once.
Edit - 6:33 pm
It has now been spell checked. I blame any other spelling or grammar errors on the goblins who live in my computer.