ContamiNation

Corporal Punishment

Brit

I woke on the cold tiled floor with the sound of scraping. Someone open the door and walked in with a tray.

"I do get a breakfast." I said super brightly. "Excellent, when are visiting hours and I want conjugal visits. I still have rights."

They walked back out, closing the door behind them without so much as a glance.

I couldn't remember falling asleep, I just remembered telling stories and then something with Michael and then...nothing.

The tray had the same thing that I ate yesterday, except less. Why give someone who might be infected and might die a good amount of food? I thought sarcastically. How long would they keep me here? Was the time getting longer or shorter?

"Michael?" My voice sounded fragile and pathetic.

"Yeah," his voice came echoing back. He sounded hoarse.

I stared at the wall trying to pretend I was looking at him. "You okay? You sound bad."

A small huff. "Yeah, just a night without a blanket is not a good thing."

"They didn't give you a blanket?"

"You don't sound so good." That's the second time he completely skipped my question.

"Michael, did they give you a blanket? And I was talking all afternoon yesterday. Your turn." I turned so I was pressed up against the door, my face so close to the metal, my nose brushed it; as if I could see through it if I got close enough.

"No, I think they forgot about me. Or they forgot that they planned to give me one later and later turned out to be never... I never said anything, I didn't think I'd be here so long."

"How long?" I had to ask.

"Not long, but long enough to be scared."

"Ha, the great Michael, afraid."

"I am human."

"Could have fooled me." I said bitterly.

"Brit, why are you suddenly angry with me?"

Ignoring him the same way he'd ignored me I started up the news again with my best imitation of radio static. "Welcome, welcome! Welcome to the morning news at the Rogers Centre. Now here are the morning updates: temperature seems to be rising at a steady exponential incline. It appears to be nine in the morning and breakfast should've been served. Please call in right now if you are missing a breakfast." Yelling ensued down the hall. "Well, well, well, it appears that many are missing their breakfasts. Wait, I'm getting a call... I have just got wind that if we all start screaming 'breakfast' we will be given it. These riots are going to continue until the demands are met. Just another stunning example of young people fighting for what's theirs."

Everyone started the chant, me included. I wish I knew what would happen next.

Teachers and adults, almost all of them, marched in. I could hear their boots, heals, and shoes on the floors as they went into the rooms. And one by one, the chanting stopped. Room by room, the kids went silent. After the door opened there was a little screaming and then nothing as they left, locking the door behind them with a click.

I'd stopped chanting too but my door still opened. One of the older teachers walked in with a stick.

I held my breath and closed my eyes, tightly. He grabbed me by the hair, roughly pulling me out. I held in a squeak as my hand was held open, and hit by the stick. Again. Again. Again.