PART ONE — THE MURDER WEAPON
Incarcerated.
Carceration.
Incar. .
Carcera.
Incarceration.
Semantic satiation. You know — I have always wondered why they called it that.
Why?
From any logical field of stand — you would think that word had something to do with automobiles or anything related to that field.
Why does anything sound the way they sound? Ever wondered why? Speaking of sounds, ever heard of the word shiv? Yeah, you would, if you watch enough prison movies it becomes an addiction.
Life behind bars is very difficult and scary. The first thing you lose is your ass, yes, you heard me, then you lose your freedom, then your sense of sanity, belonging, before you know what's up, you are just another trapped soul wandering the yard aimlessly. Looking for purpose in the depths of the uncertainties of men. Horny, sex deprived men. Because at any given time, shit could pop off. Especially for someone as young and fresh as I am. In school when you're a newcomer, they call you names such as: fresher, freshman, newbie, novice and stuffs like that, yeah? But in prison, do you know what they call newcomers? Common, take a guess? I dare you. I double dare you. Right. They are called youngbloods, fish and some words I can't say or type.
In prison, I was basically and literally everyone's bitch. My God, I wish I watched a lot of prison movies to at least prep myself for what was to come. In prison money wasn't the main currency, no honey, ass was the main currency. Yeah, money helps, too. Especially when you plan on bribing the guards, but ass? Whoooopie! Ass was like diamond, pleated with authentic gold, silver and some more expensive shit.
Sara is definitely paying for this. Definitely.
My first year in prison was chaotic — reminded me of my first year in boarding school. I couldn't sleep, couldn't even close my flipping eyes.
The sound of wails seeping through prison walls was enough to keep anyone awake. Youngbloods getting raped meticulously—wails of some innocuous soul getting raped somewhere in the dark — the guards playing deaf to the cries, and everyone else wide awake, with a shiv, wondering who the fuck was next. And the upside about the whole situation was that, you couldn't even report to any official body.
"Hey, I got raped today, help me."
That report would get you beaten up badly, because from the prison warden himself — down to the guards, everybody is gay. Gay, I tell you. The first time I had any experience at all was with this burly guy named Gerlach. It was at the bathroom. I was new, inexperienced, gullible and weak. Gerlach as you would like to know is this African American guy with thick muscles and tendons. Say a fight broke out between the both of us, I would lose badly and with a single punch, because my 18 years old body isn’t stuggy enough to take a hit from a grown ass man. So when Gerlach wilfully dropped his soap on the bathroom floor and asked me to get it — I was too young and foolish to understand what that meant. Why would I? Damnit. I fell for the oldest trick on whatever book had tricks. The gullibility I possessed caused me shitting out sperm for at least two weeks consistently. Yes. The occurrence was that much. Again, Sara would pay. Where was i? Oh, yeah, Gerlach, yeah? The soap.
"Pick up that soap, fish."
I didn’t want any trouble. I felt like you know, if I respect these folks — play fragile and obtuse, I would be a spared the madness emitting from their body. I would be immune to their slimy cocks of destruction. Or was I? The absurdities of life, man. Damn, absurdities.
But, boy was I wrong. Do bears shit in the woods, and wipe their asses with rabbits when they are done? Nope! Gerlach grabbed me from behind with this strength I would presume was equal to that of Captain America’s. Horny men are resilient and powerful. I could feel his penis slip slowly on the crevice of my butt cheeks. Engorging, and filling the my butt cracks. It was warm, and bursting with blood.
Slimy and tepid, trying to find a warm home. Wtf?! I yelled out. But what followed I can’t quite remember. Because as soon as I yelled — it kinda triggered some anger responsive shitty syndrome. Don’t Google that, that’s not a thing. I made it up.
Gerlach angrily tossed me around, and his clenched fist found a comforting home on my face — right in the middle of my face. Crushing my nose, bruising my lips — putting me to sleep. I must have passed out because when I woke up, my butt hole felt like Niagara falls — dripping semen from I would say; random men. Funny, wouldn’t you say? Curse Sara. Sara would pay for this. I never really understood what happened that day though, but from the whispers travelling through the prison yard and thin walls — I was raped by numerous amount of men. Anybody that walked in the bath that faithful day saw me passed out on the floor, immediately hopped on me. Quite mercilessly, if you asked me. But you won’t — you would judge me instead, because that’s what you readers do. You read, and judge people. I don’t blame y’all. You haven’t been incarcerated — that word again. Well, you haven’t been incarcerated, so you wouldn’t know the first thing about survival.
Following the events of what happened at the bathroom, I discovered the shiv. I now know the happiness those cavemen must have felt when they first discovered fire. The shiv as some of you might know is a makeshift weapon. Made out of anything plastic or rubber. Mine though is made out of a toothbrush.
"Why do you keep asking for toothbrushes anytime we visit you, Jimmy? I am worried. Are you being bullied, honey? These men steal your toothbrush?"
The "we" here was my best friend Daniel Newman, and his sister Danika.
Danika and I had um, what some of you might call history? Probably. We don’t even talk that much, what is she doing here? What is he even doing here, repeating the same damn routine? They came here with my Mom, but they didn’t say shit. Always quiet — on their iPhones, what’s the point of visiting? Perhaps I should shiv their eyeballs out.
My Mom wouldn't understand. She thought I was being bullied. Bullied? Arrgh, I wish that was the case with me. I really do. But, It wasn't. I wish they would just beat me to a bloody pulp, then leave me the fuck alone, but no. Instead all the bruises my face should be getting, I was getting it on my ass. Shitting out sperm, and grunting in excruciating pain. Tell me, wouldn't you prefer the bullying?
"Mom, just get the brush? It's important, okay? And what's up with Danika and Daniel?"
They both looked at me.
Danika and Daniel.
Then went back to their phones.
Ah.
Real solid respect there.
"Okay, okay, toothbrush. I would get them. You look thin, Jimmy."
She sobbed after this discovery.
Christ, she is weak.
So weak.
"Please, don’t cry, Mom, please. It is okay, really. Really, I am in prison, would you expect me to look like a rat stowing in McDonald’s restaurant? Common, Mom, really?"
"Why won't I cry, love? You're — you're growing up in prison, living your best life behind bars with men twice as bigger than you are both physically and mentally and also older than you. It's sad and unfortunate."
"Mom, I am fine, really."
"You know, Sara is coming to see you next week. Is that okay?"
Nice segue, Mom.
"Sara? What does she want?"
"To see you, I guess? I don't know, maybe apologize? I kinda talked to her about it. I don't want you holding that hate inside of your heart. We're after all family.."
"After all these years? It is been four years, Mom. Don't you think it's a little bit too late now for apologies?"
"Hey, do what you want, okay? I just want you to know that I don't blame you for what happened, you were. . ."
"Mom, please, please, no need to recount that story, yeah? We good."
A guard approached us.
Henrik Mitchell.
Mean little bastard with the urge to rape anything that's fragile, weak and amputated in a wheelchair. Yes, I said amputated. I won't delve into details. Except you want to puke reading this? But yeah, the raped amputated kid got transferred anyways. People are animals, you know. How would you rape an amputated kid? That's flipping diabolical, mate.
Yeah, I got that from Butcher.
You dig?
No?
Okay, moving on.
Henrik Mitchell tried to rape me three times — the first two trials were successful, because those were my struggling years in prison. My first year as you already had a glimpse of happened with Gerlach.
The first attempt with Henrik was too easy. He showed up with a black baton crusted with what looked like shit? Yeah, that is shit. I think I know what caused the wails at night. The baton probed the asses of boys who refused Henrik Mitchell. Black, furnished wood deep in your ass?
Er, no, thank you very much.
I was subservient immediately to Henrik’s commands, demands and vile thoughts.
Do with me as you wish, my liege.
That night, it was my own wails that engulfed the dark, empty and spacious vacuum of the of the prison’s yard — transversing the sky like the nocturnal cries of frogs — looking for a fuck buddy.
Your biology textbook would say mate partner.
The second time I tried to fight him off, really, I tried. I was too weak. Couldn’t stand all that body, manly heat on top of me, I just couldn’t. But, with just two hits landing heavily at the top of my head — matting my hair with crusted shit and dried blood, I lost consciousness, and the willpower to overcome this villain.
While I was out and down — Henrik Mitchell had his way.
The last attempt was a win for me and to the rest of the weak boys. As usual — when it was dark — dark enough that the moon was enshrouded in the clouds, Henrik was at my ward. Baton in one hand, keys jingling in the other.
"You best be naked, boy, before I unlock this door."
He laughed boisterously.
"Lay that ass before me, and maybe I won't break your head today."
I quickly striped down naked. Scars like contours of map laying esthetically on my body. It bore a weird semblance to Micheal Scofield’s tats. But this wasn’t self-imposed — this was well, you know.
Man, prison life is tough.
Henrik Mitchell opened the door, looked at me, and licked his lips at the sight of my ass. It was like Tom Hanks in castaway finally seeing food after all those years of involuntarily living life like Bear Grylls.
He tossed the keys and baton somewhere in the dark corners of my cell.
Ah, big mistake, sir.
He pulled his pants down — his cock sprang at attention — my butthole the general, the captain, el commandant.
And that was when I attacked.
Fuck the risks, grant me the rewards — like I was watching an ad on Playstore for some gold coins.
RECOUNTING A MEMORY.
LUCAS, CIGARETTES, A PLAN!
"You know what we need, bro?"
Lucas was shaking as he smoked a stick of cigarette in the prison's football yard. His lips bruised, and lacerated. Probably from all that veiny cock he is forced to suck — squirting sperm like water gun down his flipping throat.
Gaaaag.
Lucas is my best friend in this godforsaken rape yard. He is a year older than me, and a year ahead of me in prison. That means um, how do I explain this? My descriptive wordings are slowly deteriorating. Anyways, he has spent five years behind bars, I have spent just four.
Know what he did? Why he was incarcerated? Lucas stole a pack of cigarettes. Cigarettes? Can you imagine that?
"Hey, you listening to me?"
Dude couldn't stop tapping his feet monotonously on the floor. He was nervous as fuck. As he talked — the cigarette did jumping jacks at the corner of his mouth. I wonder what he did to get that cigarette.
Oh, man.
Poor, poor, Lucas.
Whose cock he sucked for this?
Joseph's?
Joseph is the smuggle king.
You want a frolicking playstation five in prison? Joseph would get that. A television set to go with it? Joseph is the guy. Hell, you want Rihanna for the night in your cell, contact Joseph. But there is a catch though. It comes with a price. Are you ready to pay with your ass? Anal sex? Okay. Money is good, too. If you have any of that.
It was once rumoured that Joseph snuck his girlfriends Jennifer and Betty into his cell one night long before I was incar. . Inc. . Reted. . Fuck. Long before I was incarcerated.
That damn word.
"Hey, listen, man. I just want to serve my time and get the hell out of this shithouse, yeah? And you know what I am gonna do when I get out? Snitch on all them motherfuckers in his place, that's what. This place ought to be closed. This place is sick. A lot of illegal shit."
"I hear you, bro. I hear you. But you know what we really need? We need a shiv, bro. Know what a shiv is? I heard some old timers bragging about it at the food court."
"A shiv? What the fuck is a shiv?"
"Get me a cigarette, and I will tell you."
"Bro, get the fuck out of here, man. Tell me, what's a shiv?"
"Do you have a toothbrush, a plastic spoon?"
"Yes, I suppose, for the toothbrush. Plastic spoon? No."
"How many you got? The toothbrush."
"A whole pack. My Mom brings them. Hey, where we going with this?"
"Bro, you have a whole pack — how does your Mom get them to you?"
"Um, yeah. My Mom is thorough. Especially with hygiene, man, don't act so surprise. And you know that nice guard? Don't know his name. She bribes him — he supplies me."
Lucas raised an eyebrow.
"Bribes him? Sex, huh?"
"Bro, what's a shiv? Fuck!"
Lucas glanced around nervously. A thing you would do if you trying to sell some illegal shit, talk some illegal shit, or do some illegal shit.
"The rear end of the toothbrush, that's your shiv, bro."
Cigarette smoke drifted from his lips, towards the sky. His face was obscured by the white, thick smoke.
"Are you on crack? Fuck you talking about, man?"
"Protection, bro. Protection. The shiv is protection."
Lucas inhaled deeply and exhaled cigarette smoke from his nostrils. He must think he look badass now.
"You wanna put a target on your back, Lu?"
"No, bro. Just protection."
"Okay. How do you make the shiv anyways?"
"Good. Glad you asked."
HENRIK MITCHELL’S THIRD TRIAL
Immediately I saw his hairy, shrivelled, ugly looking balls exposed, vulnerable — not under the covers of his prison uniform — I shiv the shit out of his balls. Burst through his scrotum repeatedly — egg and blood everywhere. Not egg in the literal sense, but you know what I mean. I didn't stop. I stabbed — retracted the shiv, and reinserted the shiv with a strength I didn't knew I had. Stabbed with anger and pain. Blood splattered on my face. Some landed on my lips — it tasted like copper. Copper dipped in cock. Ha! I am a psychopath now.
Henrik Mitchell was yelling now — screaming for help. I could hear the other guards stomping towards our direction.
Heavy footfalls.
Like horses riding into Valhalla.
Fuck them.
The guards on arriving at the scene were shocked to the core.
One of the guards, I recognized him.
The toothbrush smuggler.
For what it's worth — he's the only straight guard in this prison, mayhaps, the kindest, too.
Guard one: Holy shitballs. What the heck happened here?
No surprise in his voice at all. It was like this wasn't something new. This happened every flipping day.
Guard two: Man, this fish fucked Henrik upppp, yuck.
Yeah, this one was a little bit surprised. Not by the incident — but by the results. The result of the incident.
Blood and fucking feathers everywhere, love.
Guard three: Fuck we waiting on? Fuck this fish up.
Crazy Craig.
I will tell you about Crazy Craig someday.
Right now, he's so pissed he could literally have my ass for breakfast, lunch and supper. Which ironically would be my last supper, so. .
Guard who I recognize: I think I am gonna throw up.
I heard him gagging somewhere.
Probably my mom's breast milk is laced with his vomit.
Or, you really think the smuggling of toothbrushes were free?
Ha.
Sikeee, bitch.
You just throw up, and guess who's gonna clean that shit up?
Me.
Inverted smile.
The guards quickly stomped on ass.
Punches, kicks, shit stained batons and curses.
Whew, glad Mom didn't see me that that way.
But I guess it was worth it. Because Henrik Mitchell didn't rape no one no more. His balls couldn't keep up. The pain was just too much.
Henrik's authoritative voice raged through my thoughts, dragging me back to reality — back to my storyline if you would.
"One minute more. Wrap things up."
"But we still have like. . ."
My mother wanted to say, but Henrik caught her off mid-sentence.
"I said a minute more, maybe less if you keep yapping. Wrap this shit up immediately."
"Yes, thank you. Um, anything else you would need, baby?"
"Next batch of toothbrushes, don't forget. And do you have any money on you?"
"Um, around 200 dollars on me."
“Um, can you inconspicuously sneak that to me?"
PART TWO — MORE JAIL TIME, NO PAROLE.
The tightness of Danika's fleshy, pink and moist pussy held my cock hostage. No guns, no bombs, no demands. Just suction power.
Squeezing the life out of my penis — bleeding me white, not red.
She pounded hard and fast — not stopping to catch her breath.
Danika Newman swirled her waist in ways that did magic to my penis.
What is this sweetness?
Where have you been, Danika?
I was out of juice, and strength. I just lay motionlessly on my bed—letting her take control of my cock and life.
Whatever demon had possessed Danika? The girl was like a mount lion on steroids. She was on top of me — cowgirl style. Grinding that ass like those Latinos you see at brothels. Her butt cheeks, now wet with both our perspiration rammed heavily on my thighs — ricocheting off, and slamming down hard immediately. Her boobs jingling up and down were the only thing my eyes could see.
Her whole body was in motion — slamming hard and fast on my cock.
Don't stop.
Don't you fucking stop, Danika.
I grabbed her boobs with both my hands — my index finger and thumb doing circles around her caramel nipples — pinching them, feeling the pulse oximeter readings on my thumbs.
I could get lost in those beautiful areolas.
My chocolate way galaxy.
"Te gusta, ¿no?"
"Huh?"
My voice quavered.
Damn, this girl is super tight
"Estoy a punto de correrme."
"Fuck you saying?"
"Despierta, cabrón.."
What the hell? She sounded manly. Too manly. If I wasn't mistaken, she sounded like Henrik.
"Wake up, you cunt."
Henrik tugging at sleeves rather noisily brought me to bitter reality.
"Fuckkkkkkkk, man. What do you want?"
"You have a visitor. Get your ass up."
"Visitor? What? I only just talked to my Mom like a week ago."
"Bro, I don't give a fuck. Get your ass up."
"At least give me a minute to prepare, please?"
In reality, I didn't want Henrik to see me with an erection. After what happened in my wet-dream, my erection could drag a fucking submarine on ocean floor. Thank God I was lying in bed when this puta walked in. Little things like that could make that twat mad horny. Seeking whose asshole he would insert his cock—disregarding the pain his balls would probably give out.
Yeah, it's that bad.
Maybe this is my punishment for what happened with Sara.
Sara? Yeah, that was my visitor.
Has to be.
Got to be.
Hey, I have an idea, I hope this twat plays along.
"Hey, Henrik, I know we aren't exactly friends, but could you sneak Sara in here, please? She is the visitor I have."
"Boy, get your ass up now and move to the visitation floor."
"Common, this place isn't even heavily guarded, please? Nobody would give a fuck. You know that, I know that. The warden knows that."
"You have two seconds to get. . ."
"I have two hundred dollars on me, would you?"
BACK TO MY MOM
"But you are in jail, what would you need that money for?"
"Mom, just do it, okay?"
Mom didn't know I had plans with Sara.
Plans I have been busy trying to perfect — waiting on the moment Sara would decide to visit.
Those boobs, tight pussy, tighter than biker shorts.
Argh, I needed that.
"Okay, okay, but how do I sneak it in? Everybody is like watching us right now."
"What about your favorite prisoner?"
"Excuse me?"
"Mom, don't play coy, okay? I know you fucking him. The toothbrush smuggler? Just get it to him, he would do the rest."
"Hm, umm, er. . you know I um, it was for, I — you should just be. ."
"Okay, Mom. Thanks."
B A C K T O H E N R I K M I T C H E L L.
Henrik's facial expression changed.
"Hm. You should have started with that. Give me a minute."
He walked off.
I was quiet. I had the shiv tugged hidden under my sleeves. Few minutes later, i heard someone coming. It was Henrik. I could tell it was him because of the way he leaped, and the irregular rhythm it created when it echoed across the prison. Man, I really fucked his balls up. Walking behind him in orange uniform was Sara. So, this was Henrik’s plan? It is a perfect disguise. A perfect disguise especially if you have money to cover it all up. Sara hasn’t aged a bit. If fucking Sara would extend my stay in solid penitentiary — I would do it again. Henrik looked at me. I could see the resentment in his eyes. He stretched out his arms.
"Money, now."
His voice was firm and absolute.
I dipped my hand inside my pocket and handed him the money. 100 dollars. He counted the money — a smile formed at the corner of his lips. I hope he doesn’t spend all that money on dicks and heads. Perhaps, surgery for his balls would be the wise thing to do.
"You have 10 minutes."
With that, he left.
I walked towards the door, and closed it. Sara still mute, looking like a fucking cake sat on the corner of the bed close to me. She smelt like roses and moonlight. I don’t know if that makes sense. But this is prison, a lot of things doesn’t make sense. Including what I am about to do right now.
"Jim, I..."
The words didn’t escape her lips, but a tremendous amount of blood did. She didn’t expect it, neither did I — but I have had four years to plan this. I shiv’ed at her neck without remorse. Stabbing, retracting and stabbing. Sara didn’t even have the time to yell. She fell down on the bed, staining my white sheets with blood. She gagged, and spasmed out blood. Her eyes had this look of betrayal frozen on it. She wrapped her hands around her neck, trying to reduce the acceleration, and pressure to which blood oozed out her neck. I think maybe i destroyed an artery or vein. I could careless. Afterwards, after the struggle reduces, I kissed her lips tenderly. I unbuttoned her orange uniform — she wasn’t wearing any bra. My mouth sucked on her nipples, and her areolas. I cried. My chances of parole were gone.
I heard a creak. The door to my cell sprung open. Henrik came in, but paused at the entrance.
“wtf?”
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