The Prison (Book 1)

The Walk of Shame

The Walk of Shame

Cruel, mocking eyes gawked at us as the other new prisoners and I were led to the inspection area. To my dismay, we had to pass the prison cells in order to get to the inspection and registration areas which were located at the other end of the prison.

It seemed like the prison was designed to insert fear into the hearts of even the most dangerous and rebellious, and it was working, if the terrified look on Mr. Scar was any indication. It was too dark and there was a distinctive horrible stench that lingered in the air, potent and nearly lethal. Movies like The Last Castle or shows like Prison Break did not do this prison justice; the ambience was even more terrifying, the conditions bleaker and more depressing, and I thought I spotted a couple of cockroaches humping in a corner.

As we passed each cell, its occupants rose to unabashedly stare or advanced toward the metal bars either to get a better look or throw snide remarks at us. Most of the prisoners I saw were burly, well-built individuals, and they appeared more than capable of committing crime.

Just how exactly was I ever going to survive this wretched place, a place out of people's worst nightmares, a place too desolate and filthy to keep even animals in?

He'd done his research. This prison had a notorious reputation of swallowing people in and rarely ever spitting anyone back out due to the extremely poor life conditions, the crappy grub, and the horrible management. The list went on and on about why this particular prison was labeled one of the worst to ever be erected on the surface of the earth. Those who did manage to stay alive throughout their sentences were considered superhumans. And to add to my predicament, it wasn't just the prison's circumstances that one must be afraid of.

In this very prison lay some of the most notorious, dangerous, treacherous and vicious criminals known to mankind. If the prison's wretched conditions didn't get you, one of the convicts most likely would.

The sound of chains clinking drifted to my ears as we were escorted –more like shoved—toward our destination in a less-than-orderly line, helpless and hopeless.

Only dirty, greasy pipes greeted me when I looked up in prayer.

Insults and cusses were thrown at us, degrading, humiliating and embarrassing.

These rabid animals were the people I was going to spend my life around for the rest of my life?

"Quiet, you dirty mongrels!" Commanded an overweight man dressed in the prison's official guard uniform.

The prison warden. He seemed to have more hair on his face than head, with piercing green eyes the color of grass and repulsive yellow teeth that appeared every time he snarled at a prisoner. He stood on the catwalk high up above the prison cells, glaring down at the imprisoned men who boldly smirked back, daring him to silence them. The rebellion in their eyes was blatant. Instead of guilt-stricken, solemn expressions and sorrowful eyes burdened with remorse for whatever unspeakable crimes and wrongdoings they had committed, their expressions mirrored great amusement. Absolutely shameless.

I kept my eyes straight ahead, avoiding eye-contact with any of the prisoners.

Avoiding eye contact proved harder than expected. As we passed each cell, my eyes wandered into it and met its owners'.

Was it just me or were they all staring at me?

Finally, I forced myself to look at the dirty ground, and in that very instant, the prisoner before me paused, causing me to bump into him. Attila the Hun turned to glare daggers at me, a clear threat in his eyes. I gulped down a gulf-sized lump and issued a small apology, much to my pride's protest. I told my pride to go fuck itself; the man was big enough to end my life simply by sitting on me. Mercifully, he turned around and continued walking.

My heart beat a staccato rhythm against my chest as we neared the room where we would be inspected for any illegal and unacceptable material we might've smuggled in. They were going to conduct a strip search and possibly a cavity search.

Since I had no record of smuggling drugs, I was safe from the cavity search, right? Unfortunately, the strip search and squatting thing was unavoidable.

"I have dibs on the skinny white boy!"

It came out of the blue, an insult to my pride that left a crack in my dignity. It took me a moment to fully comprehend that comment was about me. When I realized I was the only 'skinny white boy' in the queue of new inmates, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Stiff as a board, I turned to stare at the source of the voice; a blonde prisoner dressed in the prison's orange uniform with his hands folded. A mocking smirk twisted his rosy lips, wicked intent glistening in his sky-blue eyes. With those angelic features and that fair complexion, he could've passed for a model. His appearance contrasted with the other scarred, heavily muscled inmates, like a red rose in a field of burned hay.

He winked suggestively at me and then licked the bar near his mouth, his tongue running up and down the length of the dirty metal bar.

"I can just imagine your cock in this bar's place," he moaned as his eyes ravenously travelled up and down my body.

I blanched and backed away, breaking the line. I was beyond shocked by his boldness and sheer nerve. Never in my entire existence had anyone said anything so degrading and daring to me. The other prisoners hooted and roared with laughter, some shouting equally-degrading lines.

This public humiliation was so new to me that I was left speechless, my mouth closing and opening like a fish.

"Hey, you! Get back in line!" At the guard's bark, I jumped and looked around to see the other prisoners and a couple of guards staring at me like I was some sort of spectacle, all with smirks on their faces.

"Yo, Raven, let's share! He's kinda cute," said a burly, bald man whose cell was on the right side of the man who'd publicly insulted me. I didn't even want to hear what the so-called Raven had to say in return and quickly rejoined the queue.

Feeling eyes on my back the whole walk toward the damnable inspection area, I tried and failed to ignore them.

So, the rumors were true. Homosexual relationships were the norm in prison.

We finally arrived at the inspection area. Person after person were summoned into the inspection room. It seemed like hours went by before my name was called. I rose and looked to see a man dressed in doctor clothes putting on light blue plastic gloves with a medical mask covering the lower half of his face. He stared at me for a few seconds before motioning me in and disappearing into the room.

Taking a deep breath, I walked into the room and closed the door behind me.