Juliet, Don't Cry

Juliet, Don’t Cry

Step, step, step, step, step, step, step, step... left turn. Step, step, step, step, step... Goddamn. The sickening ring of wet limestone resonates from the lunatic that walks down these prison’s corridors. I clearly am not the only captive here, but I may be the only one that is still sane. Although, I rather not be; it’s rather stressful. I squeezed the ironclad gate and gaze into the fires of the lanterns the psychos carry. I tried to drift off into sleep, but the steps were too heavy and my stomach was too empty to put my mind at ease.
The sound of iron began raking across the slick stones; I raised my head to see the source of the sound. Dear god... I widened my eyes in disbelief and terror. He’s back! He’s really back! Why can’t they just leave me alone!? The heavy metal grinded into the stones as it drug the ground. Flashes of sparks could be seen emitting from the friction, highlighting the grooves that were being left behind. A large man with an almost spherical torso took heavy step after step; every inch forward causing tension to swell up inside the prisoners. His face was covered by a hemp sack, or rather, it seemed to be actually stitched onto his flesh. His hands were bandaged up to the short sleeves of his heavy black apron. Every spark made me flinch and grip my left sleeve. I crawled to the back of my cell, hoping he would overlook me. I beg you... Leave me alone!
The disgusting fat man stopped directly in front of my cell; still looking into the corridor. I held my breath, praying he would walk past me. Two lean men, wearing wide baggy pants with goggles bolted into the sides of their heads grabbed the gate to my neighbor’s cell. I crawled back to the front of my cell, hoping to get a look at a human. How I wish to have a real conversation! I’ve barely spoken since I last had a run in with the Eight-Ball shaped man. I didn’t realize how close I really was to the large man until I felt something tap my head. I looked up; very slowly, which seemed to prolong the wait before a confirmation of my fears. The Eight-Ball man’s hand was atop my head. His thick arm fit just far enough through the cell to reach me. I froze, began feeling dizzy, and nauseated at the same time. Much to my surprise he was really patting my head. He gently caressed my hair and pet my head while I listened to my neighbor fight for his life. I was now frozen of shock, and forgot all about the sounds of abuse just to the right of me. When the beaten slave from the next cell over was drug into the corridor, Eight-Ball lifted his hand and pointed toward the end of the hall. The two skinny men began pulling the prisoner behind them. I watched with wide eyes as Eight-Ball let his cleaver drag the ground and march toward the others.
I laid back on the wet rocks and felt my hair for a moment. When nothing felt wrong I decided to feel my left arm. I held what remained of the appendage, which had been reduced to a shoulder. When the tattered scraps of skin and bandages were all I could feel I looked into the shadows on the wall. Before I was able to sort out my feelings to the previous events, tears surfaced and began racing across my cheeks. I remained curled in the center of my cell until I cried myself to the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in months.

The faint feeling of warmth broke my pitiful slumber. I rubbed my right eye, attempting to adjust the left in the meantime. When I pulled myself up I could see a wide tray of food on the other side of the gate. I quickly pounced, slamming my head against the metal bars, and began cramming the food into my mouth. The meat was tough but I was able to tear it easily because of how forceful I bit down. I was too hungry to realize the rarity in this situation. They never feed the prisoners this much. I slowed to a halt; gazing at the large tray. There has to be something wrong with the food, that thought haunted me as I frantically searched my memory for a similar event. I was at a loss; I’ve never seen a prisoner get this much at one time. What’s going to happen? What do they want with a pathetic little girl like me? I began to sob again, my tears dripped into the food in my hand. I had already eaten half of it; eating the rest wouldn’t make a difference now. I forced down the rest of the rare beef which now had a salty aftertaste. For the rest of the day I awaited the conclusion to the sick mental experiment the food proposed.

I had forgotten what natural sunlight felt like. There are no openings in this drenched cavern; leaving me to wonder what happened to my life. I tried to think realistically; it feels like I’ve been here for years, but it’s possible that it’s just been months. No one should have survived here for over a year. These bastards... they kill their prisoners too quickly for that.
I curled up in the corner of my confinement. I tried my hardest to never think about how I was cast aside by the world; shunned by god and left to be eaten by the moonstruck motherfuckers that massacred the rest of my family. Flashes of the bloody scene erupted suddenly in my mind. It was a sudden outburst of hell I never could have imagined. As a child my parents constantly told me everything would be alright. Although it was just for little things, like if I scratched my knees or broke a plate. I look at the ceiling; my eyes stinging from the overworked tear ducts. That’s right isn’t it!? Isn’t that what parents are supposed to say!? What do you tell a child who isn’t okay? Who watched her father be ripped apart!? Who listened to psychopaths rape her mother beside her!? What do you say then!? If you’re really so damn mighty then why did you let this happen!? Why!? Anyone... please, anyone tell me what I’m supposed to believe in now... I crumpled to the floor.

When I finally got a grip on myself again, I looked at my bandaged stump of a left arm. The bandages were damp from the membranous limestone that cradles me everyday. My petty thoughts were interrupted by a continuous sound. Usually the only sound I can hear down here are footsteps of guards and the occasional weeping of miserable captives. The footsteps I heard at the moment were too heavy for a regular guard; they were the footsteps of Eight-Ball. I pressed my back tightly against the wall. I couldn’t see him from my angle, but his shadow walked in front of him, and right in front of me. In a short time he stood before me. This time, he seemed to stare into my cell. Something was definitely wrong; aside from me feeling nauseated again, the two thin madmen weren’t with him. Before I noticed the objects in his hands, he held them out to me. I didn’t see his cleaver; other than what he represented I had no reason to feel danger at the moment. I hesitantly made my way forward. In his hands were a large shirt and a roll of cloth. He motioned for me to take them again; cautiously I obliged him. I examined the items as soon as they were in my hand. The shirt had one long sleeve and the other had unruly stitches in it and was cut off real short. I stood up and looked directly at Eight-Ball’s face. I still felt sick to see his constructed visage, but recently he had been losing his menacing aura. As far as I could tell, he almost looked... sad. I shook my head and spoke up, “Why? What in the hell are you doing giving me this?” My voice cracked a couple times because it has been so long since I’ve last spoke. He placed his hand on my head again; it felt different than last time as well. Can he not speak? Is he actually showing me sympathy? Before I could ask again he began stomping off. I could see his bare right arm as he walked away; the bandages had been removed.
I pulled off the ragged shirt I had been wearing and threw it against the back wall. I loosed and striped off the old bandages I had on. My arm felt cold and numb, but the new bandages--that were still dirty--felt better than what I did have. The new shirt was also better; the material was thicker and there were no flayed edges aside from what Eight-Ball cut off the left sleeve. After getting myself adjusted to the new apparel, I laid back; using my old shirt as a pillow. I realized that what had just happened was ridiculous; accepting gifts from the man that cut off my left arm was disgusting. Yet, I didn’t care. I just wanted somebody, someone to pay attention to me; to treat me like I was more than livestock.
“Heh, hahaha...” I lightly chuckled to myself. That’s right, these lunatics are cannibals. The other prisoners don’t know about it, but I... I’ve seen what happens after Eight-Ball takes you away. Unfortunately, I lost my left arm in order to see it. I was dragged off by Eight-Ball’s two skinny henchmen to a large white room. It was cold; much colder than the cavernous hell where I reside. As soon as we reached the room I was shoved into a metal table. Everything in that room actually looked clean; contrary to the rusted halls and sheet-metal floors between there and my cell. Well, as clean as a walk-in freezer could look. There were chunks of meat hanging on hooks as well as a far table with smaller portions cut up haphazardly. Suddenly, one of the thin guys slammed my head into the table; the other pulled my arms to the other side. The one behind me began taking advantage of my current position; the one in front of me held my arms still so I couldn’t resist. Eight-Ball began stomping closer to us; now sharpening his cleaver on the way. When I looked up at him, tears were already streaming down from the two pedophiles that held me down; the cleaver that he raised above me silenced my cries. I stared at him. There was nothing else I could do. I was about to meet my end at the hands of Eight-Ball while being violated by his psycho friends. The cleaver slammed down quickly after a few eternities of hesitation. There was a sudden rush of pain I never thought was possible. I screamed as loud as I could and followed it up by biting my tongue and attempting to repress the pain. The two henchmen backed off, and instead of collapsing, someone caught me before I passed out. Yet, I still woke up afterward. I no longer had two arms but I still had my life. Why didn’t I die then? A question I still couldn’t answer even now.

I snuggled in my new shirt; the cold rocks were starting to get more comfortable. Over the next few days–or at least what I perceived as a few days–I began to look forward to seeing Eight-Ball again. The more I thought about it, the less I cared; the less I cared for that so called god anyway. I just focused on surviving each day. I decided on that the day Eight-Ball brought me dinner again. I caught him this time; I woke up the moment he was setting the tray on the ground. I stood up and grabbed the gate in front of him. He stood static for a while; giving me a good chance to really examine him. Part of the right side of his face was uncovered, the hemp sack wrapped around the back of his lips, and his hair stuck up in spikes through the cloth. That day I never said anything; he pet my head after I cracked a smile. I could tell that what I was doing wasn’t normal at all, but then again, I haven’t had much of anything normal in my life.

I eventually worked myself up to have conversations with Eight-Ball. He never spoke back, but he’d sit down then rub my head when I finished. The food tasted better each time too; it was a bit chewy, but it certainly was better than eating occasional moldy bread. I mainly asked him questions when he brought my food; questions about where I actually was, how this place operates, why I was spared. I eventually stopped asking questions and began talking about life back home; he could never answer me, but he was a great listener. As always, he would nod occasionally then pat my head when I was done. As my time with Eight-Ball increased, I started to get excited whenever he came around. Even when he brought the two lunatics with him I would hop up and smile as he stomped past.

I was growing bored of being left in the cell every time that Eight-ball left. All I had to look forward to was his visits and the almost raw meals that he delivered. I was thankful nonetheless; as I let him know whenever he came by. I began to get restless whenever he wasn’t near though. The stomps that made everyone so tense brought me relief. I understood what I wanted, even if I didn’t know what those feelings meant. I wanted to get out of that cell, and I believed that Eight-Ball was my ticket out. I didn’t want to push it though, so I continued for awhile speaking with him the way I had been. The psychotic buddies of his scared me less after awhile too. I thought about telling them off once, but I didn’t want to accidentally upset Eight-Ball over something so trivial. I waited patiently for a perfect chance; a perfect chance to let Eight-Ball know I wanted out of this horror house.

Eight-Ball, once again, brought me my dinner; this time it was all meat that was still bloody. I couldn’t call this rare without laughing. I chewed the tough meat while gazing at Eight-Ball; he had taken a seat in front of me, but I hadn’t said a word to him since he sat down. I began getting nervous, I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t interested in talking anymore. I subconsciously began fidgeting with the meat that was in my hand. The juice and blood ran across my fingers; filling the joints with a creamy feel. When I noticed what I was doing I quickly sat the food down and licked my hand clean. I looked up at 8-Ball again. He sat there patiently; he wasn’t speaking, but there was a feint smile on his face. I sensed it was the perfect time for me to ask. I pressed my head tightly against the bars; looking down because I was still nervous. I stuttered for a short moment, trying to catch my own words. “Ei-Eig-I... Eight Ball... I, I want out of this cell.” I quickly looked up at him and grabbed one of the bars. “Please! I don’t want to die in this damn place... If there is anything I can do to get out, I’ll do it!” Eight-Ball didn’t even flinch; his expression never changed either. I felt more nervous with every second that he didn’t respond. After my heart started beating at a blazing pace, he leaned forward and rubbed my head again. I was on the verge of tears. Eight-Ball gripped the bars to pull himself up. I don’t want to stay here! I have to get out! I panicked when he stood up, so I grabbed the hem of his apron. “Please! Eight Ball! Don’t leave me in here again!” That was all I could think of to say. He held his hand over mine for a moment, then wiped the bloody bits of food off my cheek. I could do nothing but cave-in to the wet rocks as I watched him walk away.

I haven’t seen him in days... He hasn’t brought me anymore meat for days. The psychos had brought me bread once, but that made my stomach hurt even more. The tenderness and the juice... I missed the food almost as much as my conversations with him. I must have offended him when I asked to get out. The cold rocks and my hunger started to irritate me. I definitely blew my chances; I shouldn’t have taken Eight-Ball’s generosity for granted. I began yelling at the guards when they walked past, which definitely startled them; no prisoner every says a word to them.

I scratched my fingernails on the slimy rocks. I had filed them down to be pretty sharp; since I’ve had weeks to do so. The only food I was given now was the bread that Eight-Ball’s lackeys brought. Those two get under my skin when I see them. They would taunt me whenever they brought food. Waving it in front of my face and laughing as my eyes followed, insulting me and making me beg for it, and one of them started eating the bread in front of me. I rushed toward him to get the food, but I ended up striking his neck. I nicked his throat with my fingernail; it was a strong enough swing to draw blood. He looked half-impressed when he threw the bread at me, although not before calling me a “feisty little bitch”. I noticed my eyes wouldn’t even cry as I picked up the roll; I just started to feel a sickening pulse in my chest. When I finished the small roll I began raking my nails across the rocks again. I quickly grew tired of that as well, so I began chewing on the metal bars. I knew I couldn’t break it, but I had nothing left to try.

All I can taste is metal. As it turns out chewing on the bars was a worse idea than I thought; I might have filed my teeth as well. They ached whenever I wasn’t chewing on something. Ever since I’ve had that inclination to chew on things I looked forward to the bread. It wasn’t much but it was more soothing than nothing. I was pretty lucky today nonetheless. I had caught a rat. I woke up when my left arm started to sting. When I grasped for it I accidentally grabbed the fury little rodent. The bastard had been biting my wound while I was asleep, so I decided to return the favor. I was more at peace today then I’ve been for about a month. I giggled as I lightly bit the rodent; he squeaked every time my teeth met his sides. Once I grew tired of his little sounds I bit as hard as I could. My tongue absorbing every crackle of his tiny ribs. When my jaws clamped all the way through his body his belly exploded with organs and his guts dribbled out of his mouth. A substantial amount of blood covered my mouth and face.

Maybe... I raised my hand toward the ceiling, maybe I am pathetic enough to deserve this. I scanned my memory once more to see if I could remember anything I had done that had a positive effect on anyone. I couldn't think of anything though. I tossed and turned, bringing myself to enough self-torture to begin ripping my old shirt apart with my teeth. Of course I've never done anything for anyone! I was a kid when I was brought here. So how long...? How long do I have to rot away in here?! I began throwing myself into the iron bars, causing a racket of blunt sounds to echo down the corridors. Quit letting me suffer! Quit crushing all my hope under your self-righteous, arrogant fist! Quit pushing your damned ignorant ideals on me! When I stopped banging against the bars I got extremely dizzy and fell onto my back. The ripped shirt was laying where my hand fell. I gripped it tightly, still facing upwards. I hesitated, but I finally put the cloth in my mouth and bit into it. I raised my razor sharp nails to my throat, gently resting my eyes before pressing the claws against my jugular. God works in mysterious ways? Don't make me laugh. God's on hiatus. He left his work to these bastards. I withdrew my hand for a moment. You don't deserve my life. I quietly said that line to myself multiple times. “You don't deserve my life... You don't deserve my life...” That was it! I looked back at the revolting ceiling as I used the bars to pull myself up. I raised my middle finger to the rocks above me. I'll eventually get out of here, then I'll spend the rest of my life repaying the favor. My body's never felt this energized in a long time, it'll be hard to settle down tonight.

“Wakey wakey!” Ugh, that damn voice. I opened one eye and peered at them. I wouldn’t ever forget these lunatics’ voice. I say ‘voice’ because you could never tell them apart, neither by sight nor sound. “I said, wake up bitch!” Suddenly a hard object slammed into my stomach. I curled up from the pain. When I sat up I could see that one of them had threw a pretty big rock.
“What do you assholes want!?” I snarled.
“Just seein’ how our lil puppet’s doin’!”
“Ya’ wanna know something puppet?” The two swayed around each other as they spoke.
“I heard ole Eight Ball sayin’ something.” I lifted my head in full attention when I heard that name.
“Dat’s right puppet. He was sayin’ something about bringin’ a certain bitch tah a lil’ get togetha’.”
I was used to these idiots calling me puppet and bitch all the time, but their voices pissed me off. I quickly looked over it since I wasn’t sure how I should feel about this rude awakening.
“Ya’ interested puppet?” I quickly nodded, my eyes wide open.
“Dat’s a good puppet! Dancin’ with every lil’ pull aren’t ya’?” I glared at him, watching every movement the two made.
“I’m glad da’ lil’ bitch is coming for da’ party, maybe dis’ time I’ll get ta play with her!” I shot my hand through the bars to grab his throat but he had anticipated my reaction. He stepped back just far enough that I couldn’t reach.

I love surprises. What I was waiting on wasn’t making me anxious, I was more nervous. I used to fiddle with things when I was nervous, now it’s a habit to rake my fingernails on the rocks. Time was going irresponsibly slow. I felt like I was waiting for morning on Christmas eve, but in the morning it’s not whether or not I get presents; it’s decided that either I get to live or I’m joining the psychopaths for dinner. I nibbled on the collar of my shirt while I filed my nails on the rocks; I would probably be sweating bullets if it wasn’t for the frigid temperature of this cave.
I felt a bit of relief when I heard someone walking toward my cell. I smiled before I even seen the silhouette. When Eight-Ball stepped into view I was already at the gate; my heart was beating at what felt like 1000bmp, but my beatific swaying made it feel more natural. Eight-Ball jammed a large key into the gate. There was a hellish screech as the gate was opened, but I couldn’t cover both my ears. My head throbbed for a second as I followed beside Eight-Ball.
As we walked, I saw familiar scenes from when I lost my arm. The rusty halls, the muddy landscapes, the poorly constructed shacks of sheet-metal... This world really was much worse than my hometown, but it was much nicer than the revolting, nocturnal prison. I caught myself subconsciously reaching for Eight-Ball’s hand, but I pulled away before I made contact. He must have seen me reaching since he rubbed my head when I pulled back. I missed the heavy feel of his hand. The rest of the way, I held onto his thick fingers.
I was even more nervous when we reached our destination; the metal door was large and cold. I couldn’t forget this room either; the freezer. I gripped Eight-Ball tightly as he pushed open the heavy door. With the door ajar, cold mist flowed around my body. I hid behind him when the cold touch enveloped my figure. Eight-Ball pet my head for a moment while I let the mist surround me. I looked into his face; his simple smile ushering me into the freezer. I hesitantly made my way forward.
“Ei-Eight Ball! This! This is for me!?” Tears were forming in the corners of my eyes. He wiped my eyes and nodded. I slowly stepped forward, my heart was racing; I was so excited! I climbed on top of the large table and straddled my prize. His arms were bound above his head and his legs were shackled as well. I licked my lips; I could feel my mouth building up saliva as well. I ran my nails across his torso; each finger leaving a deep scratch behind it. I licked up the blood that seeped out; the taste was extraordinary! When I looked up at the psychopath’s face, he was desperately trying to get loose. He couldn’t move yet he was trying to pull his head away from me! His futile struggle was amusing! I couldn’t stop smiling as I pulled his goggles off. The bolts that held his goggles in place shredded chunks of meat as they were ripped out. He grunted out of pain; thrashing his head around. I gripped his throat, squeezing tightly. His retort was to spit in my face. As I wiped my face off he yelled “You little bitch!”
“Heh, hehahahaha...”
“What’s so damn funny?!” He grimaced and yelled again.
“It’s nothing.” I traced the scratches across his chest. “I just realized how much fun I’m gonna have doing this.”
The blood had painted my nails red; a pastel paint feeling that I assume nail polish would bring about. I could feel his body shudder as I reached back up to his face. I pressed my index finger in the corner of his eye. A mushy looking substance pushed up past my finger as my nail penetrated deeper. Once my finger had pushed his eye out of the socket, I used my thumb to pull it all the way out. Streams of blood mixed with colorless liquid streamed out of the empty hole. I bit the large vein that was still connected to his head in half. The stringy vein now dangled from the socket, holding his eyelid slightly open. I set the eye on my tongue and bit down. The loud pop and squishing from my teeth drowned out the sound of his excessive screaming. I was reminded of the sensation that chewing on the rat gave me. At that thought I ran my fingers down the center of his chest. I sensed someone watching, so I looked to Eight-Ball. He held out his cleaver to me.
He showed a feint smile; the simple expression warmed me up even more. I took the cleaver from him and let it rest on the psycho’s clavicle. I drug the blade across his body, making sure not to press too hard. Blood swelled up and filled the opening I carved. When I reached the center of his belly I handed the knife back to Eight-Ball. I could fit my fingers into the fresh wound, but peeling back the flesh was harder than it seemed. I accidentally ripped ribbons out of his skin; leaving pink strips and deep red splits outward. His body was covered with blood now, and my fingers were stained red. Once I got him open enough to fit my hand in I grabbed the first thing I could fit into my palm and pulled. There were numerous veins connected to it, and I couldn’t identify what organ it was. When I bit into it, the blood rushed into my mouth; almost like I was taking a drink. Chewing it was tough as well, but the blissful taste more than made up for it. I made quick work of the mystery organ before rummaging back through his belly. It felt like I was pushing my hand into an opened pumpkin; the wet insides wrapping around my fingers as I pulled out another fistful of food. I could feel my face being covered in warm substances; my fingers felt like they had the same jam-like cream between them as well. As I sunk my teeth into his body, I was overcome with joy. This is the best gift ever! I clamped my teeth onto the edge of the incision and pulled my head back. I could hear the skin tearing back, like pulling a steak apart with your hands. I noticed his screams had stopped as I chewed on the flesh, although I couldn’t pinpoint when. I leaned forward and looked at his face; his remaining eye rolled back in his head and his mouth was foaming with saliva. I began laughing as I imagined how his face changed expressions as I gnawed on his insides. I wrapped my teeth around his throat. When I bit down blood raced out of his open jaws. Wolves must know what they’re doing, the neck is pretty tender!

I tried licking my hand clean, but the blood and jam feeling smeared and wouldn’t come off. I noticed I was covered in it. My legs–still over the bastard’s half devoured body–were splattered red. My shirt was soaked; all across the front and up the sleeve as well. It even felt like I had some of it in my hair, but touching it made it wetter. When Eight-Ball stepped up I stopped looking at the mess I made.
He pointed at the far wall. In front of me was the psycho’s mirror image; hanging by his shackled arms on a meat hook. He had a terrified expression and began stuttering as quick as he could when our eyes met. He was flailing about, kicking his feet around and trying to get off the hook.
I looked back up at Eight-Ball, “That’s okay, I don’t want to upset my stomach. We can save him for later.” He pet my head with his free hand.
He reached under his apron and pulled out a thick leather strap. As I stared in wonderment, he buckled it around my throat. It was a leather collar decorated with small carvings. The design wrapped all the way around; covering the simple leather in roses and thorny vines. The detail was amazing, but at some points the leather was a bit flayed. “Juliet” was etched into the silver tag in the front. I quickly hopped off the table and buried my face into his apron. He began stroking my hair slowly.
“Thank you so much Eight-Ball!” I mumbled into his stomach as he quietly ran his fingers over my head.
“Good girl.” He bellowed. I looked up and grinned. I’ve never been happier!