The funny thing about prisons might surprise the average person, but some prisoners would find it relatable.
Outside, you're an honest man, straight as an arrow.
You have to go to prison to become a crook.
Whether this mindset applies to only the prisoners or the guards, I have my doubts.
As the room slowly comes alive with hesitating movements, only Frank is left sitting on the edge of the podium. Jerry and William are nowhere to be seen, so Jerry probably carried William off in the chaos without us noticing. As my gaze shifts around the tired walls of the cave, my sight falls on the door to The Playroom, where the guards carry out the "disciplining" of the prisoners. Fresh drag marks in the soil below it whispers of an unwilling participant, who might or might not return from there.
I know, what kind of toys they have in there.
William might survive it, but he'll have to live with the fact, that he incited Frank to involve Williams' family as well.
That by itself is a punishment.
"As I said, the quota will be raised." Frank says. His voice is slightly low in tune, but firm just the same. His body still adorns the edge of the podium, but the childlike innocence, from before has evaporated into thin air. I wouldn't put it past him to have put his inner child to death, if you ask me.
"As you all know, we're a very fair establishment down here. We like to pay our workers, but since you have no need of money, we wouldn't want to burden you with that. You get one bowl to satisfy your hunger, when you turn in 25 elemental stones. No more. No less." As his voice overtakes the painful groans in the room, everyone holds their breath as they contemplate the meaning of his words.
We're more than 700 people down here and this mine is already exhausted from our assault of its valuable resources. As the mine is slowly starved of its stones, they continue to raise the demand as if more will just magically form out of thin air. Their greed is as big as their attitudes and their relentlessness is as brutal as the whips on our backs.
"If you can't deliver the acquired stones by the end of the day, you can try your luck again tomorrow. You better hurry". With that said, he slowly gets to his feet and walks towards the common area for the guards, and overseers, and disappears behind the door. A soft click is left behind as the door closes, leaving only the guard Steven to overlook our work.
As his words register, I inwardly grimace. Yesterday, we only had to turn in 20 and that was hard enough. It might not be a problem for us, but the cubs and the other children down here, can't keep up with it. I already share some of mine with them, like the other adults, but this might not be enough now. As I look around, I meet the eyes of Mathias and I see the worry in his eyes reflect my own. His eyes move to the right side of me, where his son Michael is clutching my hand and a determined flint enters his eyes. His hands clench on his sides in frustration and as my eyes silently observe the cubs in our group, I feel so empty.
Can we really find enough stones to make up for their missing ones?
No!
No, I can't think like that!
I will make it enough. I will make sure, that it's enough.
I won't let these people have their laugh.
Like a trained unit, we all scatter in different directions, as we move towards our usual workstations.
I give a slight nod to Michael, as his hand leaves mine and he slowly moves towards his father Mathias. As Mathias clasps Michaels' hand, he gives me a reassuring smile and guides Michael to their usual spot a few meters next to mine.
On the way, we all grab a pickaxe, and some smaller tools to hammer away at the stubborn earth, from one of the worn-out wooden boxes. Right next to the boxes, there's a tiny birdcage with twirling bars of iron and a little wooden pole on the inside. The iron is old and faded, while scratches and small bumps in the surface, let me know that the cage has fallen to the floor before. Most likely from a high surface.
My eyes travel inside this little mini prison, and on the little wooden post inside, there's a tiny canary sitting in all its yellow glory. Whenever I see the vivid sunny color, I'm reminded of the scorching sunshine, even though I have been without it for years. I can picture the round shining globe, plastered unto a blue sky, while it warms my cheeks. It's a memory, only this little creature can call forth.
The bird is smaller than my palm and while its feathers are soft and alluring in their beauty, the black eyes twinkle as they observe its surroundings. A little *tweet* falls from its beak, as my eyes absorb the image of the tiny creature and I can feel my fingers tingle, from wanting to stroke its beautiful feathers.
In this dark and unforgiving place, this tiny canary feels like a breath of fresh air, but it's as trapped as the rest of us. While we've been turned into tools for digging up elemental stones, the canary is here to alert everyone of a potential explosion hazard.
Not because, the guards are worried for our safety, but the explosion would slow down our work considerably, which is why they brought the bird down here. If we hit a methane pocket and a leak is created, the canary will fall unconscious, thereby making us aware of it. Methane is highly flammable and if an explosion were to occur, everyone is at risk. Plus, the force from the explosion, could be powerful enough to bring the ceiling down, trapping everyone in the dark. In some way, the bird is here to protect the lives of the guards and not necessarily us.
My eyes leave the tranquility of the canary and focus on the box in front of me filled with different tools. As my scarred hands close around the cold handle of a pickaxe, the weight of it slowly settles in my palm, like an old friend. My hands have started to take on the shape of the worn wood, while the actual blade has small chips and bruises from torturing the wall. With the pickaxe firmly placed in my right hand, I slowly reach into the box for a chisel and a hammer, but a sudden push from the side, makes me stumble.
In this huge crowd, it can be extremely difficult to notice someone approaching you specifically, and this guy is no exception. He's like a little rat sneaking around your feet. You won't notice him at first, but as soon as you see him, you either want to wring his neck or leave the rodent infested area. Even as a fellow prisoner, this human is particularly disgusting, and I can already feel my energy draining at his presence.
As I stumble, I barely manage to support myself on the edge of the box and I quickly find my balance. I look up at the young scrawny face staring down at me, and I must immediately hold myself back from kicking the guy straight in the crotch.
It's extremely tempting but I can always look forward to doing that later.
There's always a reason to kick him.
"Disgusting animal, you're too slow!" His is taller than me, but since he hasn't quite reached puberty yet, his voice is still extremely high. I like to refer to him as The squeaker or The Squeaky Randy. Squeaky for short.
I throw a quick glance his way but decide to not waste my time on his bullshit.
In some ways, I should pity the guy for his appearance, but his personality makes it impossible to feel anything besides dislike.
He has small squinty eyes, which doesn't quite match his long face and his wide nose. Elon once drew a picture of a horse for me in the dirt, and that's the only thing, that I would compare Randy to. Not to insult the horse, of course.
His hair is greasy and falls to his ears, while a mix of freckles and acne adorns his horse-like expression.
"They should've killed you before you even got here. Abominations of nature, that's what you all are ". Squeaky here is definitely smirking at his own comment, but it's quite lacking in imagination, if you ask me.
He might be taller than me but overall, he seems weak and feeble while only his mouth seems to have a certain amount of strength, by the sound of his squeaks of insults. The smell of sweat and human scratches at my nose and I can't help but lift one end of my mouth in disgust.
"What's that look? You got something you wanna say to me?" He says, when he sees my expression.
As I look at him, I imagine grabbing a firm hold of the nape of his neck and slamming it against the wooden box at our feet, but I think better of it. He is not worth the trouble that would follow, since he has managed to crawl into the pocket of the guard Bronco, as one of his stooges, which is why he's so arrogant. He knows that bronco hates my kind, and Squeaky here has no problem borrowing a bit of his authority.
I bet, he even enjoys it.
I calmly look at his arrogant eyes and once again focus on grabbing what I need from the wooden box before walking away. With a pickaxe, a chisel, and a hammer in my hand, as well as a slight irritation from seeing Squeaky so early, I am ready to tackle the walls and empty them of their magical stones.
"Hey! Hey, don't you dare ignore me, you bastard!" His shout does nothing to stop me and his voice slowly disappears as the sound of hammering and digging slowly disturbs the silence of the cave.
How nice it would be to shove his face into the wall… If only I could use Randys' head instead of the pickaxe... That would certainly motivate me. I'm positive, I could work until death, if he were to volunteer as my pickaxe.
I wonder, though. Would it be his head or perhaps the wall, which would give away from the force first?
A small toothy smile adorns my lips, as I move towards my spot by the wall, with the mental image of him screaming and begging for mercy, as his skull cracks open.
How very appealing, indeed.
As I reach my spot, I slowly put down my collected tools and place my scarred fingers on the wall in front of my eyes. The surface is uneven and rough against my skin as I search the violated wall for any changes in texture and density.
Yesterday I managed to find a reliable vein of coal, which can be a good sign, regarding finding elementary stones. The two veins are interlocked, since the same amount of pressure is needed to form the stones as the coal, but other requirements must be met, as opposed to the formation of coal. The biggest difference would probably be the presence of mana, which is getting harder and harder to come by in this mine.
Luckily mana has a very specific smell to me, as if the mana particles have more in common with citrus than magic. It's a fresh and tart smell, which I find extremely pleasant, though sometimes overwhelming, if I stumble on a big concentration of it.
My body is still sore from the work yesterday and even more exhausted from the lack of proper sleep, but I still feel my eyes scan the surrounding area and document every person around me. Most of them are at least as tired as I am, as they search the walls for even small elemental stones, only fueled by their aching hunger.
Some work alone, while others work in pairs but rarely more than that. One person needs to focus on hacking away at the wall and the other one collects and moves rocks and debris out of the way. Sometimes they switch, just to mix it up and in some ways, I envy their approach and teamwork.
Then again, I have also seen the very same people kill each other, when the day was done, and they had to divide the amount of collected stones between them.
Another reason, why I choose to work alone.
My ears are filled with the sound of tools working and dirt falling to the ground, with hasty movements, while no sound can be heard from the many lips and mouths down here.
I take a deep breath and let my fingers stroke the fragile rock in front of me as I try to trace the vein, I managed to find yesterday. As the texture beneath my fingers goes from being rough and sharp against my skin, I feel it even out and turn almost soft in another spot. As I study the spot, I see traces of dents and bruises, I'd made the day before and I scrape it slightly with my fingernail. As tiny specks of black dust work its way beneath my nail, I know I'm in the right place.
Elemental stones are as previously mentioned, often found in veins of different metals and coal, and I am currently right in the middle of a coal vein, which should hold a few, or perhaps quite a lot of stones, if I'm lucky. I lean forward and put my nose right above the spot, I just scratched and take a deep breath and savor the scents, which enters my nose. Sulfur, coal, as well as different metals quickly register, and as I take another breath, I smell a slight notion of citrus mixed in.
I was on the right track yesterday.
With a discreet gesture, I wipe my fingers on my already dirty clothes and look around, to make sure that nobody pays an overly amount of attention to me. I spot Elon e few rows down to my right side, as he strikes his pickaxe against the rock in front of his sweating face and focused eyes.
As if sensing my stare, he looks up and meets my eyes with a slight nod before he continues to hammer away at the wall. I see Mathias a few meters to the left of me, as he continuously attack the bruised surface and send huge chunks rolling to the ground, while little Michael and his rosy cheeks uses the hammer and chisel to slowly search the fallen rocks for elemental stones. They make a great team and using the hammer and chisel is not as energy-consuming as pickaxe, which is why it's perfect for children like Michael.
I used to do the same with Elon, after he took me under his wing, but I quickly learned to swing the pickaxe instead, since he had trouble finding enough stones for the both of us that way.
As my eyes gaze around the dusty room, they fall on the lanky Randy, who pushed me by the toolbox earlier. His arrogant attitude is difficult to overlook, and he doesn't seem as desperate as the rest of us with his leaning posture and almost slow excavation.
Even with his back turned, I can see him shifting his eyes from one person to another, ready to pounce on any mistake or misconduct. He'll do anything and say anything to get in better graces with the guards, so he won't miss an opportunity to strike on any of us. I'm glad he's on the other side, but you can never be too careful.
It's usually worse if the guard Bronco has a shift, so perhaps Squeaky will refrain from making too much trouble, since Bronco isn't here.
When I've made sure that no one notices me and the coal vein, I return my gaze to my work and slowly lift my pickaxe from the ground. As my fingers close on the handle and I feel the tired wood grate against my skin, I also feel the weight of it, as I lift it from the ground. I straighten my back and roll my shoulders backwards a few times to loosen up the muscles and the tension within them. My thin arms rise above my red dirty curls on my head, while I tighten my body, as my pickaxe descends upon the waiting wall in front of me with an echoing "clang".
The sounds of metal against rock fills the surrounding air and sweat slowly covers my forehead and body. Deep breaths and hissing exhales of air reverberates against the darkened walls and lay witness to our bodies wasting away with every stroke of the axe.
For every hit against the walls, the time seems to pass by steady and slowly. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that time could be going backwards.
Down here in these dark and hollow cavities of the earth, where no sun is seen or felt, it's only the horn, which reminds us of the days passing. A single horn to control our days and lives. My eyes flicker through the dust dancing in the air but the sight neither pleases nor comforts me.
I focus on the vein in front of me and continue to dig and pester away at its tough surface. Every swing sends startling vibrations through my arms and spreads through the rest of my body like a deadly disease. Sweat pools on my forehead and collects in tiny droplets, which falls to the cold earth below my feet.
My mind sorts out the surrounding sounds and sensations, until all the pain, suffering, hunger, and the sweat is but a faded memory, while my hands keep on hacking away at the earth.
I have a steady pace going and as small pieces falls break off, I continue to follow the vein in the hopes of finding more than just black coal and empty stone.
As my pickaxe dig away at the earth, I feel my muscles slowly warm at the continued exercise and slowly grow more welcoming to it. It's always harder in the beginning, but the pain gradually subsides and becomes numbness with each strike of my arms.
Seconds turn to minutes.
Minutes turn to hours.
As the shards of rock is removed from the wall and the smell of citrus surrounds me in a fresh hug, I know I'm approaching a vein or a pocket of mana, which would be a very likely spot for the stones to be. Just as the thought enters my mind, I feel my pickaxe dig into the earth even more aggressively than before, as if the wall falls away under the force. Imagine going from hitting granite to hitting tough clay and you'll know the feeling. It feels like the pickaxe just went right in, with almost no resistance.
I've reached a pocket.
I put down my pickaxe and feel a slight sense of relief in my palms as the rough wooden handle leaves them. A tingle travels from my fingers to my wrists and I try to flex them in a little stretch and my joints release small pops as I twitch and turn them in small circles. The pleasure from stretching feels delightful, but the feeling is short lived, as I can't afford to waste any more time.
I raise my arms and feel along the carved rock, I've just tortured with my pickaxe. The rough surface feels cold and restless against my skin and a sudden feeling of guilt rakes my nerves. We've already taken so much from this place, but we cannot stop. I caress the abused wall as I try to convey my apology in silence, while I try to locate a good spot to use my chisel and hammer on. As my fingers find the hole, I just created, the wall feels almost soft to the touch and quite smooth. The hole is only big enough for one of my fingers to fit in, but that's alright. It won't take long to remove the rest.
My strategy, when removing bigger chunks, has always been to create multiple small crevices, where I can cram my chisel into and create enough pressure to crack the rock from within it. With this strategy in mind, I focus on one spot and dig out a hole, no deeper than the length of my fingernail. I then move e few centimeters to the left of it and create another hole of the same size and depth. I continue doing this until I have a long line of holes decorating the wall in a semicircle, from the bottom of the wall to the area around my height and back down again.
As I finish the semicircle, I step back and observe my work, only to nod in satisfaction at the result. My body bends forward in a crouch, as I slowly release the chisel from my left hand, so I'm only left with my hammer. I then pick up some of the scattered rocks laying on the floor and straighten my body yet again.
With a clear goal in mind, I then slowly insert some of the smaller pieces of rock, I've already hacked away and stuff them into the holes, I just made. Then I strike them even deeper with my hammer.
As the hammer reaches its goal, the sounds vibrate through my ears while the sensations travel up my arms in a powerful motion. One hand is holding the rocks in place, and the other is forcing the hammer down on them. I can already see small cracks forming in between the holes, as the pressure from the rocks split apart the rock.
*Thud* *Thud* *Thud*. The echoes swirls around me and it doesn't take long before I reach the final hole at the bottom to the right. My back is bowed, as I stretch my arms to reach it, and to steady the rock inside, but before I manage to strike it and make the whole giant piece of stone fall, a shout distract me.
"Hey, those are mine! Give them back!" It's a young voice, barely older than 10, who voices his dissatisfaction. His voice is still quite high, since he hasn't reached puberty yet. He sounds aggrieved and angry at someone. I seem to recognize the voice, so I discreetly turn my side to them and sneaks a peek in their direction.
As I watch, I spot a little boy with messy brownish hair, which almost stands taller than the actual boy, with lightly tanned skin. His nose is decorated with freckles and his cheeks are painted a faint red from frustration because of the taller boy in front of him.
The taller boy is holding a leather pouch, which clicks with every movement from the stones inside it. From the sound, there must be a good amount in there, so the little boy most likely got lucky with a vein or a mana pocket. The taller boy raises his hand, which carries the leather pouch of treasures, and makes a haughty look at the much smaller boy jumping in front of him.
"It's yours? Well, how come they're in my hands then?" The person answers with a sneer and as the voice travels to my ears, I feel my toes itching to kick a certain somebody right in a certain area. I did consider it earlier today, but perhaps I should have just followed through.
The Squeaker has returned and he's more annoying than ever, by the looks of things.
"You stole them, you dirty rat!" The child shouts at Squeaky without mercy, and I inwardly sigh.
This is gonna be troublesome…
Besides Michael, there are a good number of kids down here, both human and not. While some of the kids, like Michael, have their parents with them, some of us aren't that lucky, as you already know. Just like yours truly and this loud kid.
The voice of the child, who has been robbed, belongs to Sammy, who is one of the rowdier kids. He arrived here around 2 years ago, and he's adapted quite well, in my opinion. When he first arrived, Elon helped him adjust with some of the other adults, so I know him very well by now.
While he's not as cute as Michael, he has a knack for finding trouble, but he's also charming and helpful. He's especially good with the other kids and helps them adjust when they first arrive here with a positive attitude and a playful demeanor. Anyone who can keep up that kind of attitude in this hell should be applauded in my eyes.
He's usually mindful of his surroundings, but Randy The Squeaker always manages to round him up into a frenzy. While Sammy is indeed troublesome, when he's like this, he's also the type who keeps scores and I certainly admire that in a kid down here. If only he had some sharper wit to go with that stubbornness of his…
Even though he's only one year younger than me, he seems way wilder and childlike, with his stubborn attitude and soft features.
"Even if I did steal them, what can you do about it?" Randy squeaks like the rat he is. As his mouth spouts even more bullshit, his tongue is barely visible, but it still leaves the listener with a feeling of wanting to wash your hands. It's a nasty feeling, as if something invisible is irritating your skin. Even from here, I can see Sammy visibly shaking as he tries to control himself. A slight and almost inaudible growl slowly threatens to escape from his lips, but the sound is only caught by our own kind.
It's meant to serve as a warning.
I'm not the only one of my kind, who hears it and soon more worried faces look towards the arguing boys.
I hear Randy take a quick breath and then continue his nonsense.
"If you don't have any proof, then they're mine. A disgusting hybrid like you and the rest of your kind doesn't deserve them anyway, so beat it". He lips form a ridiculing arch with his outburst and as the words leave his mouth, his eyes roam from Sammy to me and to the rest of my kind.
I feel a twitch in my nerves at his words, but before Randy even gets a chance to turn around with his loot, I see Sammy pounce at him and tackle him to the floor in a shimmer of limbs and dust.
"Shut up! I don't wanna hear that from someone like you! You only know how to suck up to the guards, so you don't even need the stones!" Sammy shouts in anger as he wrestles with Randy on the dirty floor of the cave, and as their bickering is replaced by a violent exchange of limbs, I quickly step forward and hope to grab one of Sammys' arm to drag him up.
I only choose to do this when I see the guard Steven come closer to them. He has a curious and ruthless air about him as his polished boots carry him closer and closer to Sammy and Randy.
I approach the two boys brawling on the ground but as I look down at them and try to find an opening, I can't decide how to separate them. As they struggle and flail about, the dust around them rises in a desperate cloud of restlessness. Randy is bigger and hasn't been starved as much as Sammy, which means that he has an obvious advantage, but Sammy is not human and holds more strength. Sammy managed to bring him down to the floor, but he can't necessarily win against him in a brawl. He's too emotional in his fighting if you ask me. .
As Randy grabs a hold of Sammys' shirt, he swings one of his arms back to get momentum for his punch, but it stops in midair before it reaches its destination. As I step forward to catch the punch by the elbow, I quickly press my knee to Randys' back, while unknown persons' arm reaches for Sammy in a tight grip and hauls him up and away from Randy. As my eyes travel up the arm, I recognize the face of Elon and I exhale a quiet breath of relief at seeing him. Otherwise, I would have had to hold down both boys, which is slightly more annoying, since I'm not good at holding back.
Elon is already aware of this, which might by why he also chose to step in.
With my knee between Randys' shoulder blades and his elbow is locked in a tight hold, Randy is stuck in my hands. He tries to raise his other arm, but he is not able to reach me from that angle, as I stand behind him. As a little warning, I twist his arm even further back and a painful huff and a mix of colorful swear words escape him. The sound pleases my inner beast, and I can almost feel it vibrate from pure pleasure.
As I hold him down, the slight thrill of satisfaction at my action, feels extremely enjoyable. I feel his muscles fight against my grip, but they are easily overpowered. If circumstances were different, I'd just pull his arm right out of it's socket but it's too risky to cause more damage. Randy might be weak by himself compared to me, but he's still backed by the guard Bronco, and nobody wishes to draw his attention.
"What the f*uck! Let me go! Ow,ow, f*ck!" The little rat beneath me still seems to have too much fight in him and it's easy to see the glare he's sending in the direction of Sammy. He's not exactly the forgiving sort, so I'm worried how this will escalate.
If Steven came right now, all the blame would be placed on Sammy, because of the difference in our races. As a human, Randy is almost untouchable down here, even though he's a prisoner just like we are. We were sentenced, because we're born different, but he took an active choice since he was condemned for sexually assaulting some young noble girl. At least, that's the story he usually likes to brag about, anyway. His punishment is limited by time, while ours have no limit.
Nothing will happen to him, but any excuse to punish my kind will be welcomed.
A disgusting situation indeed and quite troublesome as expected. Before I can make a decision, I got to calm the rat down though. When I'm this close to him, the putrid smell of human attacks my nostrils and I can't help but twitch them. Since I wish to end this scuffle before anything else happens, I bow slightly down and place myself close to his ear, as I tighten the grip on his body. In a demanding tone, I send a whisper his way, which only he can hear.
"If you don't shut up, I'll cut off your balls, while you sleep". I say almost sweetly. He stills in my hands. I feels his shoulders relax and fall as I release him from my grip. Even if he continued fighting, I'd just beat his face into the ground, and he probably knows it. I see his slightly widened eyes and the red patches, which colors his cheeks. I guess he's angry enough to turn into a tomato. As if the kid wasn't unattractive enough. I slowly rise and look down at him in a calm manner, as if I never spoke.
I don't believe, I've ever actually answered his taunts or insult, so this is probably the first time I've spoken to him. I feel almost dirty after holding him down and I discreetly brush my palms on the surface of my shirt. I'm more sensitive than I look when it comes to filth and Randy definitely qualifies for that description.
In the same moment, I notice that Steven is still approaching us with quick steps and sharp eyes. His right hand has already reached for the remote control to our collars, while his left hand has a grip on the whip at his side. The spikes at the end of its tail blinks at us, as if its promising us a good time in its company. I look towards Sammy, who's still caught by Elon by the scruff of his neck.
From my point of view, he almost looks like a misbehaving kitten caught by its mother. I would normally find it cute if it weren't for the current situation.
As Elon shakes Sammy in a disapproving manner and with a scowl in his wrinkled features, he somehow manages to throw him behind him at the other adults. I think I spot Mathias and Abir catch his little frame and steady him, while they drag him away by his ears.
I lock eyes with Elon, as he turns back around and while Randy is still on the ground, albeit quiet but still red, Steven reaches us and flicks his whip at the ground in a menacing manner.
This is not going to end well.