Scars And Stories

Chapter 1

Patrick was running, not seeing where he was going. He could only hear the noise of his hurried steps - crunching dead leaves and breaking wood sticks - and his heavy breaths as he was going through what he assumed was a forest.

"Stump," A deep voice rang in his ear. He stopped in his tracks, spinning around to try and find who or what this voice belonged to, but he could only see the trees illuminated by the stars and moon. "Stump," The voice repeated, this time louder. He began to panic and started running away again. He tripped on a root that he didn't see in the dark and, as he fell to the ground, the voice said, "Stump, wake up." His body hit the floor and his eyes shot open. He sighed in relief when he saw the brick wall in front of him and realized he had a nightmare, again.

He closed his eyes again, not wanting to obey to the man standing on the other side of the iron bars separating his cell from the corridor and all the other cells that were now empty. The others prisoners were in the cafeteria or prison yard. With his eyes closed, he took deep breaths, hoping that maybe all of this was a dream and he would wake up in his bed, next to his fiancé. However, Patrick did this every morning, and every time he opened his eyes, he was still in this prison cell.

"It's way past your sleep time. You need to get the fuck up," The man spat, obviously getting upset with his behavior. The man slid the metal door open to the side, its sound echoing through the prison's long corridor. He entered Patrick's cell and walked toward him. "It's either the cold water jet or electric shock, you choose," He said, grabbing the collar of his orange jumpsuit and dragging him out of the not-so-comfortable bed into the corridor.

Patrick spun around, grabbing the guard's hand that was still gripping tightly the back of his collar, almost choking him. "No, please, I'm sorry. I won't do it again!" He begged as he tried to stand up while the tall man kept walking.

"You always say that," The almost inhuman voice of the guard, mixed with his normal voice and the effect of the too strong dose of Novocaine, told him.

"This time I mean it!"

"You always say that too."

It depended on the guards, but most of the time, they disregarded his pleas and dragged him to the showers, keeping the electric shocks for when he or the other prisoners tried to escape or attack a guard. His only crime was sleeping in, but it was enough for the guards to send him to the water jet.

Once inside the shower area, he pushed Patrick on the ground in front of the wall and, as always, told him to get his clothes off, all of them. The singer did as he ordered, throwing his jumpsuit, white t-shirt and underwear of the same color to the side. He hid his private parts with his hands when taking his clothes off. His body got thinner during the few months he'd been in this prison - though, he was still a big guy - and it was marked with a few scars, some recent and some old.

He turned his back to the guard, apprehension growing inside of him as he waited for the water jet to hit him. And suddenly, he felt a hard pain in his back as the strong and cold jet of water hit his back, pushing him forward. He tried to fight the power of the water and not hit the wall in front of him, but it was too strong. The water pushed him forward until he was standing against the wall. It was so powerful that it made him lose his balance a few times, almost making him fall to his knees. His eyes were closed tightly; he couldn't open them if he had tried. The hard jet hitting his skin violently made all his muscles tense as he tried to resist its strength and not fall to the ground. But that's what the guard wanted, to see him fall on the ground and plead for his mom like a kid. The guard only got one of these from him. He collapsed on his knees like all strength had left his body. The water kept hitting him until he was completely lying on the cold and wet tiled floor. He stayed there, his knees up to his chest, his wet hair sticking to his face and looking into space, breathing heavily and shivering.

"Get dressed," The guard ordered, throwing him his clothes. His t-shirt landed on top of him, while the rest fell to the wet floor. The guard turned around and Patrick stood up slowly, careful not to slip and put his clothes back on quickly.

The man then faced him again and grabbed his shoulder firmly, leading him out of the room and into the cafeteria where all the other prisoners were already eating the bad food in their trays. He sat Patrick at a table and left his side, leaving him in front of the plate that seemed to have been waiting for him and with the other prisoners that he already knew before this hell.