This is very much an experimental piece of literature, criticism would be VERY much appreciated
Concrete Cannibals
A tall, cracked mirror leaned precariously against the walls of prison cell 14-C. Through the layer of grime and crushed insects, a man named David watched his own reflection stare back at him with foggy, expired eyes. Every colour which had emanated from his equally tall, slender body had been washed out of him during his 5 years of interment in Whitethorn prison, making his body an angular haze of greyness. During his time in this place he had routinely endured extended periods of solitary confinement, explicit beatings which seemed to last for hours and rape.
David had found no comforting recluse in his dreams or thoughts anymore, and had taken to engraving images and figures that existed as shadowy pictures in the darkest recesses of his mind, recesses they had still to corrupt and remove from his mind. There were pictures of men with neatly trimmed moustaches, of children carrying little bags with emblems and of old ladies whose pronounced eyes seemed to transcend the concrete and bore judgement into David’s tortured consciousness.
David shuffled his trembling body from the mirror to the steel bars and, grasping them in his spidery fingers for balance, he peered through. The sickly yellow light of the prison corridor scantily illuminated the infinite expanse of jail cells which stretched out on both sides beyond conceivability, their concrete walls and menacing fanglike bars isolating the wiry men inside from their tortured brethren. These were not men of violence or vice, merely the wrong type of men. False intellectuals, men whose actions and thoughts could never be aroused by blind indoctrination but by their nature alone, and they were to be broken and contained here until a suitable genetic purge could be found for their syndrome. Until then, there were Whitethorn prison’s 20,000 occupants, one of whom was currently being ripped from his dull room and encaged inside a converted hospital bed. His name was David, and as he looked from the caged figures who stared with large eyes through the jaws of their cell and to the grim faces of the men who were pushing his trolley along the prison corridor, he wondered what any of it was for.
David clutched the cold frame of his steel cot with his pale, shivering hands. His face, barely visible through thick tendrils of black hair, was a chaotic portrait of distorted homunculus features. Creeping vines of blood clung to the edges of Tm's sunken eyes, which had begun to leak beads of pearly tears which tickled him as they caressed his ivory cheeks. David focused all his attention on this seemingly heavenly sensation, for it would surely be the last delicate thing he would ever feel. David felt he had to say something; all he needed was to find the right words. He turned his thin face frantically towards the man who was hovering over him, who was now systematically searching for something in the instrument box which was fixed to the side of the metal cradle.
David's agape mouth blurted out a series of indecipherable groans which sounded eerily like questions. The man continued to search, seemingly oblivious of the macabre noise. David's whimper grew into a shriek and it was now apparent to all who had come to watch David's execution that he was asking "Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?” The man began to scour rapidly for his elusive utensil, while the audience gasped and then erupted into laughter and clapping at David's pathetic attempts at escape.
The incessant clatter of metal instruments as the man grew visibly impatient and the sporadic jeering and the torrential clapping from the audience made David's mind enter an almost euphoric and hysterical state, forcing his body to convulse wildly against his bonds and his voice to become an obscene gargle like the howling of a rapid animal. The audience watched in awe as David's mouth began to froth with spittle and the groin of his green prisoner's trousers turn a darker green as David urinated himself. David's eyes burned with primal passion as he kicked against his leather leg restraints, as the man suddenly stopped searching and produced what looked like an elongated steel syringe.
The murky light from the naked bulb reflected dimly against the syringe's cold metal casing and as the man held up the instrument of death, all sound from the audience was drowned in solemn reverence for the object. The only noise now was from the gnarled shouts from David and the repetitive thud of his bony limbs struggling against their steel bonds. The needle drove deep into David's arm, who continued to yelp and shake as the glass invaded his tender flesh. David felt the icy serum pump throughout his body. A dark, cold wave reached his eyes, and then there was nothing. For a moment, the only noise in the dank room was of David's body involuntarily shuddering against his crib.
In a small, dingy canteen not far from Whitethorn Prison, the fierce eyes of old ladies and infants were scrutinizing the lonely man sitting near the front window of the cafe that had raised a saucer to his face and was licking the sweet remnants of cake from its plastic white surface.
You certainly have talent! If you find you have any issues while roaming through the site, feel free to send me a message and I'll give you some help.