Rotting From The Inside Out

Chapter 1: "Take It On The Chin"

Rotney.

Take slow concentrated chews. Chew. Chew. Switch to the left side of your mouth. Chew. Chew. I took my time swallowing the guck, inhaled and then exhaled deeply. I glanced over at the correctional officers who were scanning the area carefully waiting for any one of us to act out. The lunch room is the brightest place in this bitch. It might sound odd but it's the only place I can tolerate the most. Every waking moment I spend under the roof of this place makes me want to shove a knife through both my eyes and just end it all right here.

That's how I been feeling lately. I'm sick of this shit and I've only been here for a year. I know the ends and outs of this hell hole. I know the names of every mothafucka in our division of this juvenile center and they know me. Of course I don't talk to any one but that's how I obtain information quicker. I shut my ass up and I listen. You don't make yourself obvious though.

On Wednesdays they make me clean the women's restrooms in all four divisions of the juvenile center. I listen in on names, ages, who has mental illnesses, temper problems, who has - and I quote - "good pussy", who has wealthy parents and sexcapades. One girl's been secretly having sex with a correctional officer since she's been here. She ain't nothing but 17. Man's 37. The irony right? You're a correctional officer making sure we don't commit any crimes while in your care while simultaneously doing so.

Officer Crenshaw is the most condescending mothafucka of them all. Always talking down to us. Telling us we ain't shit and how when we leave we'll just be right back. Of course some of us are only leaving here just to transition over into big houses. Jails for legal niggas and bitches. Crenshaw got a bone to fuck with me. He's the one who signed me in and evaluated me when I first got in. He knows about my record and he also knows that I've been hit with a life sentence.

I used to cry everyday about that shit. I still do from time to time but I'm damn near solid about it now.

Every chance Crenshaw gets he rubs that shit in my face. About how I'll never see the crack of dawn ever again. How I'll never get to breathe air outside of a jail again.

I dream about slicing that nigga throat and watching the blood skeet out. I imagine he's on night duty watching and looking at all of the cameras. I envision that his back is turned to me. I walk up on him cool, calm and collected. I'm smooth. Like a thief in the night.

I wrap my arm around his throat and squeeze until he begins to lose consciousness and just before his vision blurs out, I let go, unsheathe the big knife from the kitchen that I always eye at breakfast and stab him right in his dick. That wouldn't be for my satisfaction though. It'd be for the joint he coerces into having sex with him every other night.

I'd glide the knife across the horizon of his neck with ease and precision. I'd stand back and watch him choke on his own blood.

I know exactly when the pigs go take their cigarette breaks, I know the times and locations of when inmates risk severe paddling to go and have sex with each other and I know when certain offices are left unsupervised. I can even tell when certain girls are on their periods. That's how hard I watch and observe.

Ting, ting!

"Inmate." I blinked out of my trance and looked over at Crenshaw. "Eat." He murmured through clenched teeth. I hadn't realized I'd been staring off into space. I do that a lot. Ain't shit else to do but look at the walls.

"I'm finished." I murmured back. Ion never go pass a two. I don't do that yelling shit or the sassy shit. It's all about tone. Truth be told, mothafuckas don't really have to yell. It only happens because of emotion. Emotion controls why we yell so to avoid that, I've been practicing exempting myself from my emotions. Cutting them bitches clean off. I can't feel for no nigga or bitch in here. You do that shit and you'll find yourself dead or in some even deeper shit. Survival method number one, never trust or fear no man that bleeds just like you. Only person that's even worthy of my fear is God and of course my mama but I ain't heard from her since I've been here so I'm really questioning her loyalty to me at this point.