Werewolf on Death Row

Two: I May Say Only Three Words But You're Still Getting Burnt

Prison has cliques. And they're the kind of cliques that make your high school dramas look like toddler fights.

First you have the gang lot. Most of them have been abandoned by their gangs because when you f*ck up big enough to get yourself in here, bailing you out is both highly illegal and evidence that you're probably just going to f*ck up again. So in here they've banded together as some kind of tatted, bulked up popular group. And they're only popular because they're responsible for most of the contraband smuggling and distribution.

Then you have the white collar criminals. The reason they're here is that their sneaky office job crimes have gotten people killed. There's only a few of them, but they all tend to try to remain 'civilised' and 'not give in to their animalistic side'. No one here likes them much which is fine because they don't like anyone else. They're the nerds of the place.

Then there are the 'crazies'. The ones who couldn't handle the death sentence so they turned to religion to try and save their sorry souls. The group is also riddled with human haters and religious extremists so they tend to left alone, especially since they're real big on conversion.

There's a teen group, which is probably the most similar to a normal highschool, although there's only like five people in it. Although it's rare for someone over the age of 35 to be sent here, since most have already found their mates by then, it's equally unusual for teenagers to have commited a crime of such magnitude that they end up here. Most people are in their twenties.

Then there are a few smaller groups around - the rapists tend to stick together, as do the animalists (the ones that believe we should just give in to our wolf side, they've brawled with the white collars more than once) and then there are the dregs. The people who don't belong anywhere. Who are generally hated or ignored by everyone. And I'm one of them.

Lone wolves are practically unheard of in our society. The push of our wolves towards a group environment - even though in that respect our wolves are more like dogs or even humans, because wild wolves stick to very small family groups - is said to be one of our strongest instincts. They say it takes a lot to overcome it.

But today it seems we have a new addtion to the pack. A chick, looking to be anywhere from her late teens to her late twenties, is standing with a tray in her hand, looking for a place to sit. Her sequined, sparkly ass clothes indicate she hasn't been through 'initiation' yet, and the way her nose sticks straight up in the air suggests she's a pretentious twit. Great, just what we need.

The look in her eyes, though, I recognise easily. The gaze of a predator searching for the weakest link. Glancing around at all the other tables, I can see that many of them recognise it too. The crazies are smiling, looking back at her like fresh meat.

I grab a tray and sit down in my usual spot, in the corner. No one bothers me here and hopefully, Sparkles won't either.

I'm just about to take a bite of my bread roll when I hear someone plop into a seat across from me. It's Sparkles, and she has this fake smile plastered on her face as if this was perfectly okay. I hear a few gasps of astonishment, and a lot of low murmuring, but it is still suddenly very quiet in here.

"I'm Emma Prescott of South Winds Pack," she says arrogantly, drawing out every syllable. "Who are you?"

I don't answer, instead sticking the piece of bread in my mouth, trying to get rid of the lingering taste of my pills. A look of disgust washes over her face before being covered by that same fake smile. She waits until I get most of the way through my bread roll before speaking again.

"Are you some kind of mute freak or something?"

I think it over for a second before I realise something that makes the corners of my lips tugs up. "No sir," I reply loudly. The room erupts in laughter, and Emma is confused - and extremely mortified. Clearly she was someone of rank in 'South Winds Pack' although I dare say they would want nothing to do with her now. She looks around frantically before her eyes narrow and shoot daggers at me.

"Who. Are. You?" she grinds out.

"Thats Steph York, that is," a voice calls out from the teen table. Nineteen year old Tristan McGraph, Irish arsonist and all round pyromaniac. He's also a loudmouth.

Sparkles eyes light up dangerously, and the disgust is no longer masked. Oh shît, she's the first person to arrive at Death's Door since I have. That means she would have read the papers, seen the news about what I did. She knows.

"I know you," she calls out dramatically. "You're the one who destroyed-"

"You shut your goddàmn mouth." It's Tristan again, only now he's a lot closer. "How about you, Prescott? You've done enough to condemn yourself to death. We're all monsters here, yourself included, but we don't give a rats about knowing what it is you've done, so don't you dare try and share this girl's story unless you're also going to share your own, got it?"

I tear my gaze away from a now cowering Sparkles to rest on Tristan. His eyes are black, and his chest is rising and falling rapidly as he grips the table tightly, still managing to tower over me even half hunched over as he is. He feels my gaze and turns to look at me, and his eyes slowly fade back to brown, telling me he's in control of his wolf. Thank you, I mouth. He gives me a small smile and nods. The cafeteria is buzzing with noise as everyone mutters to one another, clearly about us. I hear the words "rules" and "crazy" thrown around a lot, as well as mine and Tristan's names. But all eyes are back on us when he starts speaking again.

"There are rules here, the kind that the guards won't tell you about. You can choose to follow them, or die an earlier than expected death. One of them is if you're not welcome, get out. Is she welcome here York?"

"No sir," I reply, loud enough for the rest of the inmates to here. A chorus of "ooooohs" and "damnnnns" were heard.

"Do you know what happens when people aren't welcome, York?"

"Yes sir." I leaned back and cracked my knuckles, smiling lazily at a wide eyed Sparkles. I made sure to hide my surprise and confusion at someone actually standing up for me, instead aiming to look as intimidating as possible.

"Go find another table," he says to her, before turning on his heel and strutting back to the teen table. She goes rushing off into another corner of the room, and slowly the attention ebbs away and everyone returns to their previous conversations.

Eventually, after a few weeks, the white collars accept her into their circle, most likely to bolster their numbers against the animalists. They lost three weres last month to the Mate selection process. Of course, the crazies were also desperate to recruit her, but clearly her kind of crazy didn't mix well with theirs. I didn't miss the dirty glares she sent my way every now and again, but they didn't bother me. What's the worst she could do, kill me?

Ha.