What Was Slam Like?
Slams are prisons completely different than other prisons.
Slams are the closest thing to Hell you can get and still be
living.
After I killed a few people -- they all had it coming --
they threw me into what they called a high risk, multi-maximum
security prison on one of Saturn's moons. What it really was: a
hole dug in the ground and then covered with concrete, with cells
about the size of a hall closet and dim, yellow light bulbs
placed at twenty feet intervals. No one there would ever see
daylight again. And the dark spaces between light bulbs was where
inmates lurked on others.
There where several levels. I think it was designed to mimic
the seven levels of Hell. The top had skylights, but only the
guards and other administrative people were there. It was their
workspace, and no prisoner was allowed up.
The second level was the non-violent prisoners. A lot of
blue-collars who stole more than a million credits were sent
there.
The third level was additive misdemeanors. If you broke the
law so many times that you were sentenced to life, you went to
level two.
Fourth level: most felonies. Same as the third level, but
with repeat felons.
Level five housed the sexual offenders with the exception of
child molesters.
The sixth level had the murderers. Most of the murderers
anyway.
The seventh level, the last basement of Hell. It was
solitary confinement for those of us who were considered the most
damned motherfuckers ever. Child molesters were sent here, but I
think it was more of a political move than concern for the
victim, and killers like me went here. If anyone caused a problem
in the other levels, they were put here too.
This slam was in bad repair, like most I guess. The doors in
level seven, and a few of the other levels too, didn't lock
anymore, allowing us to completely ignore the solitary thing.
I knew immediately that I would need to be able to see down
here, to keep my life. I was in the one place that had people
more dangerous than I was. Before I could get it done, I would
barricade my door with my bed. I could hear the other inmates
screaming at night when a few of the guys decided they needed
some satisfaction, whether is was sexual or otherwise. I was
determined not to let it happen to me.
I found out about a doctor on my level who had killed his
patients because they were the wrong skin color. Lucky for me,
the right skin color was brown. I was told that I was "too white"
for him, but it was dark. His price was twenty menthol Kools. If
I had to steal from the other prisoners, I could do that. But the
last person in my cell before me was a smoker. He had left behind
twelve cigarettes in a crack in the wall. I only needed eight
more, which I could get from the others. I bummed a few, and
stole what I could get.
So the doctor made a house call. He brought a lot of things
that I was glad I didn't get to see until after it was over. I
don't know where he got it, but I didn't ask many questions
either.
The shine job consisted of several painful steps. First, he
tied me to the bed and propped my eyes open with toothpicks. Then
he started. He shave off the lenses of my eyes. I think I passed
out during the first one. Later he told me that he dilated my
pupils to add a coating of something I can't pronounce to my
retinas and irises. I woke up again when he was grafting my
lenses back on.
I laid in bed for a week, hoping to die. I couldn't handle
the pain. I couldn't close my eyes because it bothered the
lenses. But I couldn't keep them open because the air bothered
them too.
A few times, I could feel the other people tryin' to break
through my barricade while I was incapacitated. When I finally
stopped crying blood and the whites of my eyes turned white
again, I walked out of my cell to get a better test of my eyes.
The light bulbs bothered me a little, but if I didn't look
directly at them, I was fine. I could see in the spaces between
the light almost perfectly. I say almost because my color
perception had been drastically distorted. Everything had a
pinkish purple tinge to it. It still does.
Purple aside, it was functional. That's all I needed. I was
able to sleep better at night, because I didn't have to worry so
much about someone getting in my cell and not being able to see
them.
But then the civil rights activists started acting up. It
was inhumane to keep prisoners in such darkness. Blah, blah,
blah.
So, in an effort to shut them up, inspectors were sent into
the Slams. Along with adding fresh lights, they decided that the
broken cell locks just wouldn't do. But they decided more had to
be done with us. They came up with chains and horse bits for
prisoners who caused major problems. (Wouldn't you know it, I
quickly became one.)
The activists, though they weren't happy about the rest of
the changes, were finally stopped by public opinion. The
governments convinced the rest of the free worlds that it was in
their best interest. They were probably right.
Several times throughout my stay at Hostel de Slam, I ended
up chained to a wall with a bit in my mouth. Let me tell you,
that is one of the most uncomfortable things in the world. The
bit holds your jaw open, which starts up this bone deep ache, and
your teeth hurt from the metal. It's like chewing on tin foil
magnified by one hundred.
One of the few times I was out of chains and in my cell, I
heard about the supply and transport ships that came about once a
month -- that gave me an idea, but I still didn't have the means
to accomplish it. I knew I would figure something out though, so
I wasn't worried.
After a year or so I got my chance. We got a new warden who
didn't care about the rules. He left the doors unlocked, even the
ones between levels. He told us he didn't care if we killed each
other, that, in fact, it would make his job a lot easier. He said
that people had stopped caring about us, so what we didn't
matter. But if we crossed him, he'd kick our asses.
I started plotting at that moment. I made a trip to the
kitchen. I searched it for a knife, and found several. The
non-violents were the only ones allowed to cook, so they kept a
supply of sharp utensils. I took it and went back to my cell. I
had begun the barricades again, so I waited three weeks there
alone.
When they were up, I went to the second level. I had been
told that you could hear the ships from there. It would have to
do, since I couldn't put my hands on a shipping schedule. I only
knew approximately when the ship would come. Luckily, I heard the
ship on my second day up there. I followed a route that I had
mapped out before, and was able to get up to the first level
without much of a hassle.
The first level was lit more brightly than the others, and I
almost couldn't make it. But I had come that far, I couldn't turn
back.
I came across a few guards and killed them with my knife. I
found an emergency map on a wall, and it had exactly how to get
to the service port. So, squinting until my eyes were almost
closed, I followed the map, killing others in my way.
I found the door out, and took a breath. I flung it open and
was met with harsh sunlight. I put my hand up to fend it off, and
was able to see the ship out of the corner of my eye. I had a
straight shot to it, so I closed my eyes and ran.
When I judged that I had made it three quarters of the
distance, I half opened my eyes. I could see that I had gotten a
little off course, but I was in the shadow of the ship. I
adjusted, and it was dark enough that I could open my eyes more.
About the time that I touched the ship's door, I heard the
sirens. Someone had discovered my bodies and set off the alarm.
But it didn't matter, I was on the ship. I nearly fell out,
though, when the antsy pilot took off without warning. The door
closed behind me, and I could hear the tower ordering the pilot
to land and kill his engines. But we broke the atmosphere, and he
thought he was safe.
I cut the lights and found my way, quietly, mind you, to the
cabin. The pilot had left in such a hurry that he was the only
one on the ship. He was on edge, but easy. I stepped behind him
and slit his throat. I saw his eyes flick towards me in our
reflection on the window. We were lit up with green from the
control panel, but he was gurgling and soon to be dead. Then I
drug his body to the nearest airlock and let him go into space.
After that, I knew I would need to protect my eyes out in
the free world. So I went searching through everything until I
found a pair of welding goggles that had been left by the ship's
maintenance crew member. They worked well, and I could see
without pain when the lights were on.
Slams are prisons completely different than other prisons.
Slams are the closest thing to Hell you can get and still be
living.
After I killed a few people -- they all had it coming --
they threw me into what they called a high risk, multi-maximum
security prison on one of Saturn's moons. What it really was: a
hole dug in the ground and then covered with concrete, with cells
about the size of a hall closet and dim, yellow light bulbs
placed at twenty feet intervals. No one there would ever see
daylight again. And the dark spaces between light bulbs was where
inmates lurked on others.
There where several levels. I think it was designed to mimic
the seven levels of Hell. The top had skylights, but only the
guards and other administrative people were there. It was their
workspace, and no prisoner was allowed up.
The second level was the non-violent prisoners. A lot of
blue-collars who stole more than a million credits were sent
there.
The third level was additive misdemeanors. If you broke the
law so many times that you were sentenced to life, you went to
level two.
Fourth level: most felonies. Same as the third level, but
with repeat felons.
Level five housed the sexual offenders with the exception of
child molesters.
The sixth level had the murderers. Most of the murderers
anyway.
The seventh level, the last basement of Hell. It was
solitary confinement for those of us who were considered the most
damned motherfuckers ever. Child molesters were sent here, but I
think it was more of a political move than concern for the
victim, and killers like me went here. If anyone caused a problem
in the other levels, they were put here too.
This slam was in bad repair, like most I guess. The doors in
level seven, and a few of the other levels too, didn't lock
anymore, allowing us to completely ignore the solitary thing.
I knew immediately that I would need to be able to see down
here, to keep my life. I was in the one place that had people
more dangerous than I was. Before I could get it done, I would
barricade my door with my bed. I could hear the other inmates
screaming at night when a few of the guys decided they needed
some satisfaction, whether is was sexual or otherwise. I was
determined not to let it happen to me.
I found out about a doctor on my level who had killed his
patients because they were the wrong skin color. Lucky for me,
the right skin color was brown. I was told that I was "too white"
for him, but it was dark. His price was twenty menthol Kools. If
I had to steal from the other prisoners, I could do that. But the
last person in my cell before me was a smoker. He had left behind
twelve cigarettes in a crack in the wall. I only needed eight
more, which I could get from the others. I bummed a few, and
stole what I could get.
So the doctor made a house call. He brought a lot of things
that I was glad I didn't get to see until after it was over. I
don't know where he got it, but I didn't ask many questions
either.
The shine job consisted of several painful steps. First, he
tied me to the bed and propped my eyes open with toothpicks. Then
he started. He shave off the lenses of my eyes. I think I passed
out during the first one. Later he told me that he dilated my
pupils to add a coating of something I can't pronounce to my
retinas and irises. I woke up again when he was grafting my
lenses back on.
I laid in bed for a week, hoping to die. I couldn't handle
the pain. I couldn't close my eyes because it bothered the
lenses. But I couldn't keep them open because the air bothered
them too.
A few times, I could feel the other people tryin' to break
through my barricade while I was incapacitated. When I finally
stopped crying blood and the whites of my eyes turned white
again, I walked out of my cell to get a better test of my eyes.
The light bulbs bothered me a little, but if I didn't look
directly at them, I was fine. I could see in the spaces between
the light almost perfectly. I say almost because my color
perception had been drastically distorted. Everything had a
pinkish purple tinge to it. It still does.
Purple aside, it was functional. That's all I needed. I was
able to sleep better at night, because I didn't have to worry so
much about someone getting in my cell and not being able to see
them.
But then the civil rights activists started acting up. It
was inhumane to keep prisoners in such darkness. Blah, blah,
blah.
So, in an effort to shut them up, inspectors were sent into
the Slams. Along with adding fresh lights, they decided that the
broken cell locks just wouldn't do. But they decided more had to
be done with us. They came up with chains and horse bits for
prisoners who caused major problems. (Wouldn't you know it, I
quickly became one.)
The activists, though they weren't happy about the rest of
the changes, were finally stopped by public opinion. The
governments convinced the rest of the free worlds that it was in
their best interest. They were probably right.
Several times throughout my stay at Hostel de Slam, I ended
up chained to a wall with a bit in my mouth. Let me tell you,
that is one of the most uncomfortable things in the world. The
bit holds your jaw open, which starts up this bone deep ache, and
your teeth hurt from the metal. It's like chewing on tin foil
magnified by one hundred.
One of the few times I was out of chains and in my cell, I
heard about the supply and transport ships that came about once a
month -- that gave me an idea, but I still didn't have the means
to accomplish it. I knew I would figure something out though, so
I wasn't worried.
After a year or so I got my chance. We got a new warden who
didn't care about the rules. He left the doors unlocked, even the
ones between levels. He told us he didn't care if we killed each
other, that, in fact, it would make his job a lot easier. He said
that people had stopped caring about us, so what we didn't
matter. But if we crossed him, he'd kick our asses.
I started plotting at that moment. I made a trip to the
kitchen. I searched it for a knife, and found several. The
non-violents were the only ones allowed to cook, so they kept a
supply of sharp utensils. I took it and went back to my cell. I
had begun the barricades again, so I waited three weeks there
alone.
When they were up, I went to the second level. I had been
told that you could hear the ships from there. It would have to
do, since I couldn't put my hands on a shipping schedule. I only
knew approximately when the ship would come. Luckily, I heard the
ship on my second day up there. I followed a route that I had
mapped out before, and was able to get up to the first level
without much of a hassle.
The first level was lit more brightly than the others, and I
almost couldn't make it. But I had come that far, I couldn't turn
back.
I came across a few guards and killed them with my knife. I
found an emergency map on a wall, and it had exactly how to get
to the service port. So, squinting until my eyes were almost
closed, I followed the map, killing others in my way.
I found the door out, and took a breath. I flung it open and
was met with harsh sunlight. I put my hand up to fend it off, and
was able to see the ship out of the corner of my eye. I had a
straight shot to it, so I closed my eyes and ran.
When I judged that I had made it three quarters of the
distance, I half opened my eyes. I could see that I had gotten a
little off course, but I was in the shadow of the ship. I
adjusted, and it was dark enough that I could open my eyes more.
About the time that I touched the ship's door, I heard the
sirens. Someone had discovered my bodies and set off the alarm.
But it didn't matter, I was on the ship. I nearly fell out,
though, when the antsy pilot took off without warning. The door
closed behind me, and I could hear the tower ordering the pilot
to land and kill his engines. But we broke the atmosphere, and he
thought he was safe.
I cut the lights and found my way, quietly, mind you, to the
cabin. The pilot had left in such a hurry that he was the only
one on the ship. He was on edge, but easy. I stepped behind him
and slit his throat. I saw his eyes flick towards me in our
reflection on the window. We were lit up with green from the
control panel, but he was gurgling and soon to be dead. Then I
drug his body to the nearest airlock and let him go into space.
After that, I knew I would need to protect my eyes out in
the free world. So I went searching through everything until I
found a pair of welding goggles that had been left by the ship's
maintenance crew member. They worked well, and I could see
without pain when the lights were on.
