Trapped

Death Angel

Harry Styles,21, February 1, 1994.

Convicted of killing father, Desmond Styles, by stabbing him an outstanding total of 32 times after he went on a killing spree across England. It is said that Harry targeted women in their early twenties, sterilizing them of their reproductive organs.

Reason unknown.

Harry is sentenced to life at notorious prison camp, Saint Mansfield, where all the most sinister criminals go. Located just outside the British Isles, Mansfield is the only of its kind in all of Europe.

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I walked in the line heading towards the mess hall, hearing nothing more than the cling of the heavy metal chains cuffing our hands and feet. It was one of the better days knowing that one of the troublemakers, Flynn as they called him, had his brains smashed in against the railing of his bunk by his cellmate early this morning. All you could hear was a terrible crack and a blood-curdling scream.

I can only imagine something as entertaining happening in my cell. I was put in a cell alone due to the circumstances of my wonderfully horrific crime, left alone with just me and my sick thoughts.

Reaching the mess hall and sitting down in the far corner, I spat out my chewing tobacco into a bucket nearby filled with cigarette butts.

I sat and stared over the cold broth in the dirt stained bowl and watched my surroundings. In the far corner, you could see a man looking like he was about to choke the person sitting across from him. In the center near the back, I saw a frail, old lady sharpening her fork on the stone table quickly before she got caught.

Saint Mansfield was a strange place, I knew that for sure. All we did was either work all day or be locked up all day. There is no bail; there are no lesser sentences.

If you're here, you're here to stay.

As I was walked back to my cell, I caught a glimpse of a pale figure with a black robe concealing their identity. The hallways had disappeared and so had the guards at my sides. The room had went dark and I was in a familiar house; my childhood home.

I hadn't been here since I had murdered my father so long ago.

"Harry, what are you doing with that knife?", he asked, backing up out of his business chair.

This was it.

I was going to soon be rid of the man I had loathed for so long.

I smiled evilly and chuckled. As I twiddled the knife in my hands, I walked ever so slowly to him.

"Oh, father," he looked completely terrified. It was completely satisfying to see him in such a state.
"All these years, I had spent loathing your presence. All these years I've wanted this, fiercely."