Slowly drawing one last pull, the cigarette elicited a cough from Jacks tattered lungs that would not stop. Crushing under-sole the comforting cancer he trudged back to the guardhouse where orders for the next patrol awaited. As the entrance to the guardhouse loomed above, the distance walked with each step became shorter and shorter until nothing but a crawl was manageable as he entered.

"Lindsay, you get to watch GP (General population) today, Skwarlo, you and Dorsey get C and D block."

"Shit I get the crazies again," I thought while looking over at Skwarlo's glowering mug. Pulling the same face we both left abreast one another, internally cursing at the sergeant; wanting nothing more than for the next 12 hours to disappear under a monotony of labor. We quickly walked down a concrete ramp away from the guard station where all correctional officers slept while burning holes in the ground that led to the elevator. Another day began.

As soon as the doors closed Skwarlo punched them as hard as he could, his fists covered in gloves studded with carbon fiber knuckles left small dimples, adding to the mosaic of dents, scratches, and folds in the aluminum. It looked like it hurt, a lot. Grimacing he Stared at me and said

" Jim fuckin hates us,

I've gotten C block 4 times this week, He KNOWS that we rotate every two days and that sadistic FUCK can't help but put us here again?"

I nodded in apathy. It had become routine, by now I hadn't been rotated into GP patrols for over a month and it was starting to show. Looking into the polished Aluminium elevator doors my haggard face looked back, distorted by the dents and folds as if they were upon my body.

They showed a quickly receding widows peak of once vibrant and luscious golden hair, now nothing more than a dull dirty blonde, crowning an increasingly complex latticework of ravines and divots across grayish skin that had more in common with concrete prison walls and cells than anything human. My sharp green eyes, now but a recess below heavy brow, lead to hollowed cheeks taut tight against the skull beneath. A sharp chin pocked with slight cuts from a shave gone wrong straddled my drooping adams apple, patches of greasy stubble adorning it. A pressed black correctional guard uniform with billy club straddling the waste laid upon scrawny shoulders,rolled inwards and down, stooping my spine to the point of vertebrae pressing taut the coarse cotton along my back. The chest of my uniform was slack with skin beneath hugging a concave sternum. This led down to a bulbous gut sticking out in contrast, keeping the uniform and undershirt beneath tight. Scrawny arms ending in large palms with thin, long, delicate fingers ended the casual reflection. Nothing could be seen of my lower body as the pants legs were too large to show any definition, tucked into and bagging around black combat boots worn with age.

Sighing at my appearance the elevator doors suddenly opened. Too transfixed by my reflection I hadn't noticed our descent. Skwarlo hurriedly rushed out towards the C block guard house. I closed my eyes as the elevator doors shut once again and it started drawing me down under the concrete monolith above. I readied in preparation for what was to come.

D block is the only one underground and was created for the sake of those true monsters who didn't deserve to see the light of day. The housing was arrayed in the shape of a triangle with a guard house in the center like much of the others. Each pod* ran along one line of this triangular shape with 3 cells per pod, each wall they were cast in extending 30 feet while being 10 feet tall. The holes perforating the doors to each cell were made sound proof as to not allow inmates communication among'st each-other, serving as nothing more than ventilation.

Swiftly walking toward the guardhouse I entered, startling Webb from his nap he looked up at me in confusion, quickly turning into relief and happiness as I was the sacrifice to his ending shift.

"Good luck" and "you look like shit' among other pleasantries tumbled out as he quickly strode toward the elevator.

I didn't blame him, it's a sane response to overseeing hell-born to reality.

Inside the guard house, I grabbed the M14 rifle all such stations held and placed it to the wall right of the entrance in its perforated cage, where it should be. Throwing away the butterslinger bar rappers and other assorted detritus gave order to my frayed nerves.

"Webb is such a fucking pig," I thought, slowly easing myself into the overseer's chair. Taking a quick glance at the bank of monitors showing all nine of those incarcerated monsters. Each cell had 2 cameras showing a perspective from the door and one from the top rear of the cell. Most were sleeping on their beds formed out from the concrete walls. However, three of them were still up. Edward Klein was chewing off his fingernails,,, again, while Richard Weatherby was holding his hands over a steaming pile of shit, trying to warm them in the damp, cold, cell. Johnathan Haley was the last one who seemed to have any life in him. Just staring into the camera, into my soul.

Pinpricks flew up my shivering spine as if telling me that he knew: The trembling of my psyche as I continually put off getting promoted scared of the responsibility, eating the wrong food, going back to college, working out.

All of the filth came out and wouldn't stop. They beat down upon the breaking dam of my mind. Tides of dark putrid filth cresting the edge as sweet nothings echoed beneath.

"It's in your nature to be weak Dorsey, your job is long and hard how could you possibly study under so much stress? You never had the build to be strong so who cares about a little gut, who needs guns to punch when you have guns to shoot?'

Gritting my teeth to keep in the scream I fondled over the various pockets of my uniform, looking for sweet nicotine, damned be the consequences.

Haley smiled at the camera silently laughing as I wrestled with regret and stagnation.