The sound of the judges hammer rang out it's death knell to the court room.
As his sentence announced, Smithy hung his head in shame. 20 years for murder. He lost his temper and stabbed a criminal in one blind moment of rage, and his penance for this moment was 20 years of sorrow and solitude. He was going to be among the scum of the law, a Scion of justice fallen from grace and left to rot among the sick and the demented, the scourges of the order he had spent his life protecting society from.
That was five years. Five years Smithy had spent in the red brick hill that was H.M.S Belfast. His own law had put him here. He woke up on his wrought iron bed screaming every night, haunted by the memories of the youths scared face, the abject terror behind his eyes as Smithy drove the blade into him time and time again, his repulsion at the fact that he had enjoyed every thrust, relished in the spilling of the blood which left dark trophies on his blue uniform. He had given in to his deepest darkest most perverted desires, and paid the price in guilt and time. The nightmares never stopped, the other inmates called him the Screamer, the Nut of Block N. This continued for five years until Smithy's cellmate, a serial rapist and killed named Mark Dustin, had had enough.
It was the same as any night, Smithy woke up as he usually did around midnight screaming. The image of his victim still burned into his retina, he lay panting in a pool of sweat. He heard a grunt from above. He prayed he hadn't woken up Dustin, but God had long since forsaken him and his prayers were answered only by the squeak of the springs as Dustin awoke and rolled off the bed. He landed on the floor, his hands gripping the black bedstead and his eyes looking dead at Smithy's. He grinned.
'Hello Screamer. Having another nightmare?'
Smithy only cowered in fear.
'I'm sick of this Screamer. I'm sick of being woken up by you crying like a bitch. If your crying like a bitch, I can only assume you are a bitch, and what do bad little bitches get from bad uncle Marky?'
Smithy shook his head, sweat still dripping from his brow and tears still glistening on his face.
'That's right little bitch, they get fucked'
Smithy lept out the bed but he was too slow. Dustin tackled him to the ground, ripping off Smithy's close with ease. Smithy merely clawed and kicked ineffectively, sobbing the whole time. Dustin's grin grew wider and more manic as he tore of Smithy's shirt . Punching him in the face, Dustin stuffed the ripped shirt into Smithy's mouth, snapping a few of his front teeth in the process. His eye swelling from the punch, Smithy screamed at the pain as his teeth were bent into his mouth by the sweaty, blood-stained fabric. He winced as Dustin drove his head into the ground, and decided to give up fighting and accept his fate, his further punishment for his sick perversion that caused him to be in this situation. Dustin ripped his trousers off, they unbuttoned his own flies.
'Now little bitch, are you ready to be fucked?' He bent down and whispered this into Smithy's ear. He positioned his erect penis by Smithy's colon, spat on it for lubricant ('Wouldn't want to get Uncle Marky's member ripped, would we little bitch?') and thrust inward. Smithy screamed in pain as his sphincter was penetrated by Dustin's erect penis. He felt it inside him, tearing at his insides, as Dustin moved backwards and forwards, bringing himself to orgasm by Smithy's pain.
'Eugh… are you ready little bitch… are you ready for Uncle Marky?' Dustin whispered in Smithy's ear as he raped him, then tilted his head back and howled as he climaxed, reaching round Smithy's testicles and squeezing them hard, twisting them round to cause Smithy greater pain. He then punched Smithy in the back of the head and smashing his head into the floor. He then ripped off Smithy's testicles.
'A souvenir from my little bitch? A present to uncle Marky? How kind.;'
Dustin then threw the limp of flesh at Smithy, hitting him in the face with it. He then buttoned his flies and got into bed. Rolling over, he said
'Goodnight. Sweet dreams little bitch.'
Smithy just lay there on the floor of the dank cell sobbing, his tears mixing with the blood on his face, suffering for his crimes.