Black Box Sacrifice

Here in prison, every day is the same. Kill or be killed was the motto.

I've seen more blood run in this last week than in my entire adult life.

There are only two options really, you had a shark for a lawyer who won't even let you sign your sentencing papers before getting you out; or he's so incompetent that even though you're innocent, he leaves you to rot in maximum security jail.

My case is the second.

When the dark box lowered in front of me in the exercise yard, the only place where I still felt somewhat calmer, the drone descended without preamble. It was not a random attack. There was also no confusion. I was the only one near the soccer goal, a synthetic field. False and lifeless.

Like everything around me.

My first thought was a bomb. The guards, as always, turned a blind eye. The drones were daily, bringing weapons, drugs and fun, every day into the jail. They just waited for their slice, that as long as it was given on time and justly, everything flowed.

During this week of hell, I’d seen a drone attack. It was fast, it went in, threw the box and it went out. This time, the drone was still blinking, less than a meter away. Waiting.

I looked around, nobody seemed to pay attention. The black drone, twinkling, like it was impatient. What did it want from me? What could I give that hadn't already been taken?

My dignity, my job, my house, my family. My freedom. My all.

I took the box. It was smaller than a shoe box. My head started pumping. Bum Bum. Bum Bum. Was this the end of the week and my life from hell, just because this fucking thing was going to blow up in my face?

My hand entered the box without much thought, more for fear of waiting, here where life would go to the next second, I had no time to beat around the bush and at the same time, I had all the time in the world until I finished my sentence.

I touched the coldness of a weapon, I must be the only one in this place who had never touched one before, but I had seen them out here and there so often, just touching it blindly was enough. Next to her, I touched a photo. I took the photo immediately, as a mechanical reaction.

My blood ran cold, in an instant.

The smiles, the girl and her mother. My daughter and the one who used to be my wife. Leaving her school, leaving without concern, chatting and a small smile on both of them. The same smile, the same one I hadn't seen for so long, directed at me.

Kill Jr. Or they die.

I got up from the stands and grabbed the drone with my hand. I ripped the camera out, the blades sinking into my skin. One after another cut off my hand, but my fury was too great. I saw red, not just because of my blood, no. I’d come to this damned place only because I wanted to spare them any further suffering. Spare them the embarrassment of having a cheating father or husband.

I crashed the drone to the ground. I stepped on it over and over and over again without stopping. Nothing stopped me. Nothing could, really. Few looked at me. Had I lost my mind? It seemed that I no longer had anything to lose, but once again I was wrong. Losing my sanity was the only thing left.

Killing someone here, when not only I didn’t know how to use a weapon, was a joke. But it couldn't be a joke, if they had bothered to chase them down and take a picture of them. My hands were full of blood and they wanted to continue staining someone else's.

And who else.

Jr was the lord and master of this prison. He had not one, not two, but six bodyguards. He had had more assassination attempts in one day than most US presidents in history. Jr was a monster. He had no soul, no conscience. He had killed people in and out of jail and he didn't have to say anything to make it happen.

How could someone like me be expected to succeed where so many others had failed? And if I failed, what ensured I would survive? What if I were successful? Revenge here was daily, daily bread. An eye for an eye and stuff.

Why me? Regret on all levels drowned me out for a minute. It was a desperate situation. Where? How?

It was unthinkable.

The wing of the jail I was in was strictly white collar. The few times that Jr had come, it was for some settling of scores. My first week and the only name of a possible enemy was his. How did they know? How did they know that I knew?

I saw the crimson of my hands, a metaphor for the crime they wanted me to commit. My hands among all the dirty they were had never had blood, whether innocent or not.

For them, he would be able to kill.

For them, he would be able to die.

Here, in the place where your enemies played soccer with your head. Where they jumped rope with your intestines. I had entered, without any hope.

And as if he were summoned, they opened the door that let more prisoners pass into the common area. My time was running out. Sure enough, seven of the most evil men entered the courtyard. What would they bring today? A head? A baseball bat? What would they play with?

The box was intact. Waiting.

I took the gun. Jr.

Junior.

His black soul was coming to an end today. Maybe it was God? God who wanted him to eliminate a being so evil that only a violent death could take him away?

My soul would also be black afterwards. Hell, which I had already earned for a long time, now belonged to me.

One. Two.

I ran to him. I was shorter than his bodyguards. They didn't see me.

His gaze was blank.

He was not surprised.

Three. Four.

The gun in my hand, how had it gotten here?

Five. Six.

A knife penetrated me in the back of him. Uhm. Maybe they did see me.

Seven. Eight.

I emptied the gun on Jr.'s forehead.

Nine. Ten.

Again and again and another stab to my back. Guards finally appeared. Punches everywhere.

But I had already achieved my goal. It was too late.

Late, just like to save me.

But they would be safe without me. And it was everything I could wish for.