40
Gianna aka Lily (19years)
My knees to my chest, my arms around them, I stared at the plastic tray sitting in front of me. A bowl of soup, a glass of water, and a piece of bread all looked back at me. Someone added an apple this time, yet I felt nothing. No gratitude, no need to fill the fissure that became my stomach, no desire to quench that arid dryness lining my throat, no reason to close those throbbing eyes that knew no vision other than tears. There was only one thing I felt. Emptiness.
I shifted my gaze as two eyes moved closer. That pink nose twitching, the aroma of my food a willful bait. Still, I stared. Waiting. My left hand slid down my leg and I reached for the bread. I broke off a piece, the size of my thumbnail and threw it a centimeter closer to my tray. Two tiny hands picked up the piece. Sharp incisors worked furiously to gnaw at the bread before it disappeared. I threw another piece, a little closer. That furry body ventured further, the need for food too enticing to be wary. Those incisors crushed and chewed, the bread disappearing quicker this time.
Throwing a third piece, my right hand, with the stealth of a prowling lion, reached for the spoon beside my soup bowl. The third piece vanished down that voracious throat. And just because I could, I offered one more piece. An open palm laid flat with the fourth piece in the center... the last meal. I waited. Once more that greedy stomach knew no bounds. Its furry body drew closer. Its slimy underbelly grazing over my fingers as it sniffed the bread.
And just as those tiny fingers reached once more for the bread, my fingers snapped like a Venus flytrap crushing squishy skin and wet fur like a gooey rubber ball. A high-pitched squeal erupted in the cell as my right hand came down. Stabbing motions of the spoon handle pierced the rawhide. Blood spurted painting my orange tunic like abstract art. Still, I pulverized with the one hand and squeezed with the other until nothing, but silence returned.
I threw the dead rat through the bars and stared down at my blood-soaked hands. My eyes growing wider as I rubbed the pads of my thumbs and forefingers together. The sticky residue smooth beneath my touch. Then came the scream. It ripped from my throat, piercing every core, every passage, every stone in this godforsaken fucking place. Footsteps pounded down the passages lending bass to my wailing shriek. Voices called out. Shouting. Demanding. Keys jangled against the lock. The slam of the door hitting the back wall. Hands grabbed my arms. Carried me. And through it, all my screams never stopped, not once until that needle broke through my skin and calm pulled my body into oblivion.
“Another rat today, Lily? That makes twelve in two weeks.” Dr. Rose looked down at me, her kind eyes searching.
For the girl who’d walked into her room and cried against her chest. For the girl who’d found out she was pregnant with a killer’s child. For the girl who’d been shunted into hell by her devil husband. For the girl who’d carried her baby to term. For the girl who’d dressed in a red tunic and red pants every day. Because red made her untouchable. Red protected her against the men that visited at night. The men that made the inmates whimper and cry into the night. For the girl who’d lost her baby because of a little bitch called Matilda the Hawk. For the girl who would now have to wear a gray tunic and pants every day. Because gray meant she was now touchable. By the men who’d soil her pussy and fill her with their dirty seed until she could wear red again. Because red protected her womb that would carry babies to be sold on the black market.
But for now, I wore orange. Because orange said I was sick. That I killed rats. That I hadn’t eaten in two weeks. That I hadn’t slept in two weeks. That my insides were still raw from being scraped off my baby’s dead body. That I stayed in a cell all by myself. That I couldn’t cry anymore. That I could scream down a house. Yes, orange was perfect for me right now. Because I’d kill anyone who came near me.
Except for Dr. Rose. Because Dr. Rose smiled from her lips to her eyes. Because Dr. Rose cleaned off the rat’s blood from my hands. Because Dr. Rose made me sleep with medication.
And now my eyes closed only because the medication made it. But I didn’t dream. I remembered.
I used to love blue once. It was my favorite color. Just like how blueberry cheesecake was my favorite dessert. Then I came to this place and my favorite color changed. I now loved red. Not because I wanted to carry illegal babies. Because red made me untouchable. And I would remain untouchable until I became what I desired most.
Indestructible.
