Utopia Gone, Part 6 (Final)
The lack of windows in cell block 7 gave Del Markum nothing to look at, unless you called the drab walls interesting, which he didn’t. He had no idea how long he’d been in the block, but he knew he would be here until he died. Everyone in cell block 7 was there till they died. That was just the way things were.
Time dragged on in the block, a slow, painful drudgery that drove people crazy. Yesterday was different. They had brought back old John Bosemer Gaul, Butcher of Nine Points. Markum could remember when Gaul had left the block, skin white and pale, limbs thin and gangly. Now he was fit, his muscles rippling under tan skin. The time between Gaul’s leaving and his return was so boring that Markum couldn’t remember any of it. It was like Gaul had never left. He was glad they had brought back the Butcher, because now he had something to watch. And they had placed Gaul in the cell directly across from him. Didn’t get much luckier than that.
Night and day, the Butcher cried. Big sobs racked his body, making him look like he was having seizures. It was unlike his old hard-as-synth-diamond self. Markum liked it though, and hoped it would never end. Pain, no matter what form it took, never lost its savor for Markum.
One thing he couldn’t understand was the meaning of the Butcher’s words. The man kept sobbing, relentlessly saying: “It’s gone. it’s gone.” He would repeat the words as if they were a mantra, tears flowing down his sunken cheeks. “It’s gone, it’s gone. My utopia is gone…”
