my morning
The stark white cinderblock wall vibrated with the jeers of two-dozen depraved inmates. The shower water was beginning to lose what little warmth it had had to begin with. It had been a month since I last felt the soothing warmth of a free man's shower. I did my best to remember, but the echoes of the evil voices around me kept me anchored in terrible reality. I knew what was about to happen, and I knew there was nothing I could do. His name was French Test, or, as he was called in his own circles, "Le Premier Interrogation Ecrite du Semestre." His two cronies, "Sleep Deprivation" and "Bad Study Habits," put me in a full nelson until I stopped resisting. They pinned me to the floor, and I heard French Test say, "Tu as une jolie bouche, mon ami." Sadly, that was the last bit of French I could manage to translate before he violated me, and I retreated to my quiet place. The voices couldn't reach me there.