HT100 Oz Flash Fiction Challenge #11 - Amnesty: Centrifuge
A response to:
HT100 Flash Fiction Challenge #10 - Seven Deadly Sins
Write a story around one of the seven deadly sins. Those sins are pride, envy, gluttony, lust, anger, greed, or sloth.
Story Notes: Beecher gets all shook up, one sin drabble at a time.
Centrifuge
~*~*~*~*~
PRIDE
His parents had been so proud. Top honors at Harvard. Law Review. His intellect has always been his greatest asset. It was the key to winning any litigation.
Of course those smarts are little consolation now-to his family or Kathy Rockwell’s. Nor
do they keep him from having to lick Schillinger’s boots, or suck that Nazi bastard’s cock.
Sure he’s smart, but in Oz, the brain isn’t the muscle that matters. No, the only skill he has
left to master is swallowing his pride long enough to survive. But as always, he finds himself to be an apt pupil.
GLUTTONY
He smiles as he watches all the hardened criminals keep their distance. He wears the title of Nutjob as a badge of honor. And he keeps his favorite weapon, a nursery rhyme, always loaded and at the ready. He’s learned the hard way, well not as hard as that fuck Robson, how a simple show of teeth or a wild cackle can be more effective than a shank for keeping people at bay. He gorges himself on the freedom that lunacy brings. Some days he knows he’s not really crazy, but he’s fully prepared to keep that knowledge to himself.
ENVY
One look around the reopened Em City and he knows he doesn’t belong. Not that he’s out of his element, not anymore. He’s proven he’s just as depraved, just as vicious as every other inmate inside Oz. No, when he says he doesn’t belong, he means he’s flying solo. McManus channels Noah, lining them up two by two. The Latinos, the Homeboys, the Aryans fucks, they’re all bound together by blood or ideology. But the Others? They’re just that. Rejects. He doesn’t want to play on any other team, but it’d be nice to have someone to watch his back.
SLOTH
The moonshine burns his throat as he guzzles. Soon, his body is heavy, limp-immobile in a blanket of intoxication. But his mind is still flying. The smell of his children-sweet, innocent. Pure. The insistent press of Keller’s lips against his own-the scrape of stubble against his jaw, strong fingers digging into his shoulders, his waist. The smash of glass shattering against the window. The images twist together, colors distorted, washing out, then burning bright. It’s too much. It’s not enough. He closes his eyes and waits for the blissful inertia that only his old standby can bring.
ANGER
As he lay splintered, broken, his body in traction, he could feel the anger course through him like a live wire. That rage sustained him, giving him purpose. It devoured his pain, converting it to sweet designs of revenge, payback. Retribution.
When he closed his eyes, he could see Schillinger’s dead body sprawled and mangled on the floor. When he curled his hands around their plaster casts, he could feel Keller’s blood, wet and warm against his fingertips.
It was hard to wait. His *mind* was ready now. His body might be impotent, but soon. Very soon…vengeance would be his.
LUST
Lust. He used to think it was just a base impulse, something *beneath* him. But if Oz has taught him anything, it’s to embrace whatever makes you feel. There are all different kinds of lust-for life, for sex, for freedom. But the most intoxicating he decides just might be the lust for revenge.
Sharp and raw, it’s an electrical current that pulses through him as he rocks Andrew Schillinger in his arms and tells him everything’s going to be all right. It blocks out every other impulse. It’s so strong, he has to wonder if Andy feels it too.
GREED
Lockdown. How he used to fear those words. Now he relishes them. It’s amazing how quickly things can change. Vengeance to forgiveness. Hate to love. Longing to greedy fulfillment. Most days, he can’t even wait until lights out. He has to touch Keller, to taste him. He should be surprised at how much he craves the contact. The lessons he’s learned in Oz should make him leery but they don’t. They just make him cherish the respite even more. And he knows as Keller presses an urgent hand against his cock that he’ll never be able to give it up.
HT100 Flash Fiction Challenge #10 - Seven Deadly Sins
Write a story around one of the seven deadly sins. Those sins are pride, envy, gluttony, lust, anger, greed, or sloth.
Story Notes: Beecher gets all shook up, one sin drabble at a time.
Centrifuge
~*~*~*~*~
PRIDE
His parents had been so proud. Top honors at Harvard. Law Review. His intellect has always been his greatest asset. It was the key to winning any litigation.
Of course those smarts are little consolation now-to his family or Kathy Rockwell’s. Nor
do they keep him from having to lick Schillinger’s boots, or suck that Nazi bastard’s cock.
Sure he’s smart, but in Oz, the brain isn’t the muscle that matters. No, the only skill he has
left to master is swallowing his pride long enough to survive. But as always, he finds himself to be an apt pupil.
GLUTTONY
He smiles as he watches all the hardened criminals keep their distance. He wears the title of Nutjob as a badge of honor. And he keeps his favorite weapon, a nursery rhyme, always loaded and at the ready. He’s learned the hard way, well not as hard as that fuck Robson, how a simple show of teeth or a wild cackle can be more effective than a shank for keeping people at bay. He gorges himself on the freedom that lunacy brings. Some days he knows he’s not really crazy, but he’s fully prepared to keep that knowledge to himself.
ENVY
One look around the reopened Em City and he knows he doesn’t belong. Not that he’s out of his element, not anymore. He’s proven he’s just as depraved, just as vicious as every other inmate inside Oz. No, when he says he doesn’t belong, he means he’s flying solo. McManus channels Noah, lining them up two by two. The Latinos, the Homeboys, the Aryans fucks, they’re all bound together by blood or ideology. But the Others? They’re just that. Rejects. He doesn’t want to play on any other team, but it’d be nice to have someone to watch his back.
SLOTH
The moonshine burns his throat as he guzzles. Soon, his body is heavy, limp-immobile in a blanket of intoxication. But his mind is still flying. The smell of his children-sweet, innocent. Pure. The insistent press of Keller’s lips against his own-the scrape of stubble against his jaw, strong fingers digging into his shoulders, his waist. The smash of glass shattering against the window. The images twist together, colors distorted, washing out, then burning bright. It’s too much. It’s not enough. He closes his eyes and waits for the blissful inertia that only his old standby can bring.
ANGER
As he lay splintered, broken, his body in traction, he could feel the anger course through him like a live wire. That rage sustained him, giving him purpose. It devoured his pain, converting it to sweet designs of revenge, payback. Retribution.
When he closed his eyes, he could see Schillinger’s dead body sprawled and mangled on the floor. When he curled his hands around their plaster casts, he could feel Keller’s blood, wet and warm against his fingertips.
It was hard to wait. His *mind* was ready now. His body might be impotent, but soon. Very soon…vengeance would be his.
LUST
Lust. He used to think it was just a base impulse, something *beneath* him. But if Oz has taught him anything, it’s to embrace whatever makes you feel. There are all different kinds of lust-for life, for sex, for freedom. But the most intoxicating he decides just might be the lust for revenge.
Sharp and raw, it’s an electrical current that pulses through him as he rocks Andrew Schillinger in his arms and tells him everything’s going to be all right. It blocks out every other impulse. It’s so strong, he has to wonder if Andy feels it too.
GREED
Lockdown. How he used to fear those words. Now he relishes them. It’s amazing how quickly things can change. Vengeance to forgiveness. Hate to love. Longing to greedy fulfillment. Most days, he can’t even wait until lights out. He has to touch Keller, to taste him. He should be surprised at how much he craves the contact. The lessons he’s learned in Oz should make him leery but they don’t. They just make him cherish the respite even more. And he knows as Keller presses an urgent hand against his cock that he’ll never be able to give it up.