The Pariahs

Chapter One

 “Lunch time,” a gruff voice said from somewhere that seemed very far away.

A man slowly awoke, unsure of exactly where he was. A rough scraping sound brought him more fully to consciousness.

He gently opened his eyes, his head pounding, his mind unsure whether what he was seeing was dream or reality.

Around him appeared to be three solid concrete walls, mostly covered in crudely drawn graffiti. Marks indicating that at some previous time “Jeff were here” spoke volumes about the literacy of the previous occupants of this room. When he turned and saw that the fourth wall was made of metal bars that extended from the ceiling to just above the floor, he realized he was somewhere he would rather not be. From his viewpoint it looked very much like a jail cell.

Which was exactly what it was.

He sat up on his poor excuse for a bed, which was a thin sheet of metal jutting out from the wall. On it was a large, lumpy plastic bag filled with only God knew what. He could only hope that the filling didn’t consist of Jeff or any of the other people who had occupied this room at one time or another. He was very careful to keep his head down as he rose as there was another bunk not three feet above the one he was lying on.

He looked down and found the source of the scraping noise that had helped rouse him from his slumber. A plastic tray had been slid beneath the bars of the non-concrete wall. The person who had done the sliding had been none too careful about the process, as a substantial portion of its contents had been spilled onto the floor below.

Even after careful consideration he still couldn’t decide exactly what the food was supposed to be. Nothing quite like it had ever crossed his vision before. It was almost like it was in the disturbing gray area between gruel and snot, not quite either but with the worst qualities of both.

The thought of food made him realize just how hungry he was. He gingerly reached down and picked up the tray. He brought it slowly to his face to inspect it more fully, giving it an experimental sniff.

That turned out to be a mistake.

The odor of the slop was something impossible to describe with any degree of accuracy, though the fact that it smelled worse than it looked was quite a feat in itself.

The man dropped the tray to the ground, splashing its vile payload across the already dirty floor of the cell.

Before he could stop himself, he was bent double, painfully vomiting into the mess. The burning in his throat told him that he hadn’t eaten for some time, as it was pure stomach acid and bile coming up, with no hint of a solid chunk to be found.

When he finally managed to get the retching under control, he realized just how much pain he was in. It wasn’t just his head that was pounding; his entire body felt as if he’d just gone through a series of battles in the arena and had been mercilessly beaten by professional gladiators for days on end.

He looked down at himself and noticed for the first time that his clothes were torn and dried blood was caked into the fabric. He couldn’t be sure who’s blood was all over him, but considering the agony coursing through his body, it seems a logical guess that most of it was his.

He lifted his shirt to see just what kind of condition he was in. He was shocked to see that, while he had many injuries, most of them appeared to have healed over. He had scars here and there that he didn’t recognize, and most of his torso was covered in hues of black, blue, and yellow, but there was a distinct lack of the fresh, open wounds he was expecting to see. Unless he’d been in the same clothes for weeks, someone must have healed him after the ordeal he’d been through, whatever it was.