Chapter Text
I was sitting in my cell doing nothing. I wish I had something to do. Like draw. But I know they would never give me the luxury of a small piece of chalk to draw on my floor and wall.
I may not believe in God (plenty of reasons to believe he doesn’t exist), but if I were treated like 1 percent nicer by the C.O.I, I may just start praying again.
”Butcher. Food.” One of the wardens slid over a plate of ‘food’, quickly so I won’t try to leave when he held the door open to give the stuff to me.
I don’t like this food. It’s gross and the texture makes me feel like I’m going to throw up.
I still eat it. It’s not like there’s anything else to eat, nor am I getting any other meals.
Prisoners are only allowed one meal a day. Civilians (both my home station and this one) get 1 meal in the morning and one at night. People who are superior than all the others get 3 meals. And despite the ratio being different depending on if society likes you, the food doesn’t change. Well of course except for prisoners. They get the worst food. But the others get better food, even if not by much. Well, that’s what I assume. I’ve only been a civilian and prisoner. I can only assume superiors just only get more food, and not the better food.
Prisoners don’t really get utensils, so we use our hands then wipe them on a cloth that’s washed once a month. And it’s used by more than one person.
Well sometimes.
My cellmate disappeared a few weeks ago. I don’t know what happened.
He was an adult, I know that. But not much else. I knew his name, sure, but I never talked to him enough to say it. We just lived in the same cell, and that’s that. I didn’t like him.
I Get my cloth taken away once every other week, since I have no cellmate anymore and we’re only allowed three a cell, and we don’t get new prisoners much, so it’s not like someone will move in here, or me moving somewhere else.
I sometimes see people passing by. They either don’t notice me, don’t acknowledge me, or look at me like I deserved to die.
Which I do.
I killed a lot of people. Even if Filament Station was not in my ‘things to destroy’ list, I was still there.
I know I didn’t do it. They just blamed me. Because I’ve killed before, and ‘once a killer, always a killer’; even if I plead for forgiveness everyday.
It doesn’t matter how hard I work to have some sort of kindness, they still hurt me.
I don’t want to die, but it sure feels like a better option than this. But I won’t give up. I still try, even if I know they’ll never consider just an ounce of kindness for a kid who’s killed many.