The cacophony of static and piercing grinding of metal noise cleared
from Jeremy's head. Feeling a slight dampness on his hands, he found a
small trickle of blood had dripped from his ears. Alarming as it was, his
senses felt a new reality creeping towards him. No longer merely unclean,
the cell was festering under the weight of what seemed decades of neglect.
So foul with sweat and excrement the stone room could never be broken down
by vines or lichens, leaving only the metal bars to rust and crumble in
this world.
His eyes wandered down the hallway of cells, most of them had lost their metal bars, or at least, most of the bars. Decay consumed all of the building now it seemed, and no single point of origin could be found. It merely was; it existed of its own accord it seemed. Standing and brushing his pants, Jeremy found still in his back pocket the key to his supply cabinet at school. He wondered if someone had graded the test he had given the students a week ago, though maybe they wouldn't be. His crime had stolen any credibility of his teaching skills from the town's eyes.
Waiting for the trial now seemed like a foolish idea. Twisted nightmarish jails weren't exactly part of the normal world, and the sounds of the guards had vanished. With nothing replacing the movements of the guards the jail was still, only Jeremy's own shoes scuffing the floor echoed in the hallway. No indication of life was present at all, leaving Jeremy with little reason to stay. Cautiously he stepped out of the cell, testing the strength of the floor with each step before proceeding down the hall towards the exit.
The cells were empty except for one. Hypodermic needles and syringes coated the floor, their diseased tips striking upward for any unwary step. Rusty and soiled, the room smelt of drunken excess and maggoty meat. Occupying the center of cell 3 was a gun resting on a small metal chair. 'Police don't leave guns lying in the reach of prisoners, so why then was this here,' Jeremy thought. Only one alternative felt remotely satisfying, though unsettling, the gun is here because this place is dangerous.
Reaching across the cell wasn't easy for Jeremy, risking a stab from one of the needles though was worth the pain of the stretching to avoid them. It was warm in his hands, the barrel burning hot. 'Just how long was I out,' he thought while checking the clip. Twelve bullets could fit inside, but only nine were in it. Maybe it had been used recently, but then, who would have left it there?
Still questioning the purpose and availability of the handgun, Jeremy opened the door to the small room filled with metal and glass doors that led to the private rooms for attorney meetings or conjugal visits, it also led into the police station proper through a wooden side door. Moldy paper work sat in trays upon a desk set against the wall. It was here that people confirmed their visitations with the on-duty officer, but now it sat empty, the drawers swollen shut and ink staining the top and most of the papers sitting there. One clipboard escaped the inks blotting color; it listed the names of cells and prisoners, as well as any notable information. Jeremy scanned it; only one entry had special information.
Cell 3
Prisoner #7804, Matthew Prose
Visitors allowed: None
Notes: Prisoner #7804 is paranoid and delusional.
Claims to have a gun, but is in fact unarmed.
Believes a large man is out to get him.
Requires sedation on a regular basis
due to anxiety caused by nightmares
and excessive stimuli.
Setting the clipboard down Jeremy looked around, thinking he heard a sound from the third visitation room. The overhead lights were casting off only a faint light that constantly flickered, forcing Jeremy to move closer to the door in an attempt to peer through the glass. Though sticky with the same vile grease as the rest of the building, the glass was still able to show a faint outline of a person slowly shuffling around the room.
"Hello? Is someone there?" Jeremy barely whispered out loud, before knocking slightly and opening the door slowly. Whatever light had been on to cast a shadow flared brightly then browned-out, throwing a seeping black over the room. Stepping back so as to let the paltry light from the main room reveal the figure within, Jeremy's knees buckled and sent him to the ground.
It emerged, shuffling and shambling, trembling with the effort of its own movements its skin rippled and ruptured. Sinew and stiffened bone broke forward, staining a once orderly uniform. Facial features obscured by scarring and contusions twitched and skewed themselves, rapidly blaspheming against sanity, then calming only to start once more. One arm pinned to the torso and thigh with three oversized construction nails firmly grasped a firearm still in its holster, the other arm wasn't there, being cut off at the shoulder ending in a gaping, wobbling mouth frothing with flesh.
Closing his tearful eyes, gripping his gun, Jeremy unloaded the clip; sobbing out a plead of mercy as the bullets penetrated the sickly cadaver. It lurched and swayed back and forth for a moment before toppling over backwards. Stale blood flew upward, almost splattering Jeremy, as the head of the beast cracked against the floor.
Drained from the short ordeal, Jeremy sat, watching as the blood slowly pooled and twirled down towards a drain he had never noticed before; a drain which the blood slowly circled despite the level ground, before defying gravity once again by spilling downward into the sewers by a triangular shape. Feeling somehow at ease, Jeremy's brain took time to let its sensory overload now occur.
His eyes wandered down the hallway of cells, most of them had lost their metal bars, or at least, most of the bars. Decay consumed all of the building now it seemed, and no single point of origin could be found. It merely was; it existed of its own accord it seemed. Standing and brushing his pants, Jeremy found still in his back pocket the key to his supply cabinet at school. He wondered if someone had graded the test he had given the students a week ago, though maybe they wouldn't be. His crime had stolen any credibility of his teaching skills from the town's eyes.
Waiting for the trial now seemed like a foolish idea. Twisted nightmarish jails weren't exactly part of the normal world, and the sounds of the guards had vanished. With nothing replacing the movements of the guards the jail was still, only Jeremy's own shoes scuffing the floor echoed in the hallway. No indication of life was present at all, leaving Jeremy with little reason to stay. Cautiously he stepped out of the cell, testing the strength of the floor with each step before proceeding down the hall towards the exit.
The cells were empty except for one. Hypodermic needles and syringes coated the floor, their diseased tips striking upward for any unwary step. Rusty and soiled, the room smelt of drunken excess and maggoty meat. Occupying the center of cell 3 was a gun resting on a small metal chair. 'Police don't leave guns lying in the reach of prisoners, so why then was this here,' Jeremy thought. Only one alternative felt remotely satisfying, though unsettling, the gun is here because this place is dangerous.
Reaching across the cell wasn't easy for Jeremy, risking a stab from one of the needles though was worth the pain of the stretching to avoid them. It was warm in his hands, the barrel burning hot. 'Just how long was I out,' he thought while checking the clip. Twelve bullets could fit inside, but only nine were in it. Maybe it had been used recently, but then, who would have left it there?
Still questioning the purpose and availability of the handgun, Jeremy opened the door to the small room filled with metal and glass doors that led to the private rooms for attorney meetings or conjugal visits, it also led into the police station proper through a wooden side door. Moldy paper work sat in trays upon a desk set against the wall. It was here that people confirmed their visitations with the on-duty officer, but now it sat empty, the drawers swollen shut and ink staining the top and most of the papers sitting there. One clipboard escaped the inks blotting color; it listed the names of cells and prisoners, as well as any notable information. Jeremy scanned it; only one entry had special information.
Cell 3
Prisoner #7804, Matthew Prose
Visitors allowed: None
Notes: Prisoner #7804 is paranoid and delusional.
Claims to have a gun, but is in fact unarmed.
Believes a large man is out to get him.
Requires sedation on a regular basis
due to anxiety caused by nightmares
and excessive stimuli.
Setting the clipboard down Jeremy looked around, thinking he heard a sound from the third visitation room. The overhead lights were casting off only a faint light that constantly flickered, forcing Jeremy to move closer to the door in an attempt to peer through the glass. Though sticky with the same vile grease as the rest of the building, the glass was still able to show a faint outline of a person slowly shuffling around the room.
"Hello? Is someone there?" Jeremy barely whispered out loud, before knocking slightly and opening the door slowly. Whatever light had been on to cast a shadow flared brightly then browned-out, throwing a seeping black over the room. Stepping back so as to let the paltry light from the main room reveal the figure within, Jeremy's knees buckled and sent him to the ground.
It emerged, shuffling and shambling, trembling with the effort of its own movements its skin rippled and ruptured. Sinew and stiffened bone broke forward, staining a once orderly uniform. Facial features obscured by scarring and contusions twitched and skewed themselves, rapidly blaspheming against sanity, then calming only to start once more. One arm pinned to the torso and thigh with three oversized construction nails firmly grasped a firearm still in its holster, the other arm wasn't there, being cut off at the shoulder ending in a gaping, wobbling mouth frothing with flesh.
Closing his tearful eyes, gripping his gun, Jeremy unloaded the clip; sobbing out a plead of mercy as the bullets penetrated the sickly cadaver. It lurched and swayed back and forth for a moment before toppling over backwards. Stale blood flew upward, almost splattering Jeremy, as the head of the beast cracked against the floor.
Drained from the short ordeal, Jeremy sat, watching as the blood slowly pooled and twirled down towards a drain he had never noticed before; a drain which the blood slowly circled despite the level ground, before defying gravity once again by spilling downward into the sewers by a triangular shape. Feeling somehow at ease, Jeremy's brain took time to let its sensory overload now occur.