A Little Lethal

| Chapter 1 |absolution|

I'll worship like a dog
At the shrine of your lies
I'll tell you my sins
So you can  sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death,
Oh good God, let me give you my life
~~

The first thing that hit him was the dampness.

There was water all over him, dripping from his hair and clothes.

Then came the smell.

It was pungent and stale, making him scrunch up his nose unconsciously. It smelt like piss.

Rotten piss that had been lying like that, uncleaned for days.

He tried to open his eyes, struggling to believe what his wet skin told him, but a pounding in his skull prevented him from making even the smallest movement. His whole body ached and he groaned, knowing it would continue to ache that way for a while, because of the heavy beating he had recieved.

He was sure his body was covered with bruises which must be turning purple, numbing pain from his chest told him his ribs had taken the brunt of the abuse and the smell of rusting iron near his nose indicated that he had sustained a head injury severe enough to draw blood.

He could barely believe that someone would stoop to a level so low to degrade a person, a human, for the sake of their own insecurities. He couldn't, he refused, to believe that a people could be so cold, so uncouth.

He didn't want to believe they would alienate a large proportion of the society and push them down into nothingness.

And their only crime was being different.

But it had been happening and it would continue to happen.

Because it was the truth.

And it had been happening for a long time now, with various different parts of the society; women, differently coloured people, minorities, anyone that was even remotely different and could be suppressed.

Footsteps neared him and his body tightened, preparing itself for another heavy bout of abuse he was sure would come. The footsteps came to a halt just near his face and he winced, expecting a shoe kicking his face around like a football.

But the shoe never came.

Instead a voice spoke, "They sure did a number on you." It sounded humorous, like the man was trying to lighten the situation, but there was no pushing away the resentment in his chest.

He tried to move again but was interrupted, "It would be advisable for you not to do that."

He wanted to scoff. Of course it would, but he did it anyway.

With a great surge of effort, he opened his eyes to find pristine leather shoes standing in the puddle of piss around him. His eyes found a plate of food in the hands of the man, which blocked his view of his face.

He struggled some more, feeling the desperate emptiness in his stomach. It had been a long time since he had a proper meal. Probably noticing his struggle, the man squatted down closer to his level. His shoes now bore stains of piss on them and his pants brushed the ground, absorbing the wetness.

He pointedly looked that way, to let the man know somehow.

The man scoffed. "They don't matter. I have many more. You are more important right now."

He wondered why he was being treated better than what he had expected and what the rumours said.

"The men who were sent to capture you were first timers and went too far. The policy of the prison prohibits any type of permanent harm or extreme physical abuse. You have numerous broken bones, a concussion and a busted cheek. They have been warned."