Stone and metal in circles within circles. Inside of this edifice, fear mixed with boredom, like vibrant neon against dull grey.

The county prison was situated in a clearing. The fastest person could not hope to sprint from the fence to the tree line before being cut down. The guard towers were manned, long barrels sticking out in silent warning.

Those guards that were armed were slow to draw their weapons. Many failed to do so altogether. Rounds ripped into our flesh. We ignored the pain, lunged forward, hacking off limbs, slicing open bellies.

We felt it then, the kiss of our goddess. This blessing was her way of telling us that she was close, that she loved us.

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One by one we pried open the cell doors. Prisoners screamed as we set upon them, as we slit their throats. They gargled and flailed as we ripped off their manhoods. Some fought back. Fists and improvised knives swung. With our teeth and claws we matched their desperation, their rage.

Stopping, we chewed on an arm, stretched out our awareness. Panic blasted out of those cells we had not yet visited. Fear that shone like a thousand suns. Little blind spots in that three-story grid of concrete and metal. Blood ran inside that concrete edifice, across floors and down walls. Piles of meat and guts stood out in our senses, like sprinkles on a pastry.

We healed. Slugs were pushed out of our flesh. These deformed lumps of metal fell to the floor, clattering across it.

We reaped the remaining phalluses. And with that bloody harvest changing inside of us, we made our way to the reformatory.