Welcome to Hell {Prinxiety}

Chapter 1

Virgil's POV (Age 11)

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and months turned into years of being here. Roman and I managed to stay close as friends, always making sure to be there for each other because no one else would. Most of the kids here are so concerned about saving their own necks they don't pass so much as a worried glance when someone walks into the bunks with a bruised and bloodied appearance.

So when Roman once again shows up to the bunks where half the boys slept limping, I was the only one to show an ounce of concern, "What did you do this time?" I ask worriedly as I make him lay on his stomach, exposing his scraped-up back.

"I was on explosives duty, and an explosion nearby may have startled me, causing me to drop the lighter on an entire cart of dynamite below," He explains, looking almost proud, "The guards got pretty mad when I came running out of the strip as it all went off, and yeah..." No more explanation was needed. The fresh marks on his back made it obvious enough what his 'cowardice' and 'stupidity' earned, and that was several lashes.

"Can you try and follow their rules for five minutes?" I ask desperately, "One day they're gonna kill you," I mumble, clearly more worried for his life than he is.

"Don't worry so much- Ah god freaking-!!" He yelps as I press a wet bit of cloth to one of the bleeding cuts.

He bites down on the poorly made, hay-filled pillow to muffle any cries, to avoid the attention of any nearby guards and to keep from annoying our immense number of roommates. Each room of bunks held sixty-four people, assuming we were only putting one person in each bed. The beds were stacked four high, like some kind of double bunk bed, and there were two rows of eight beds. So using simple math, and sleepless nights where I had nothing better to do, I had long since figured out how many other people were in here. I had the 'privilege' of being on one of the top bunks, so at least if the janky-looking structure failed I wouldn't be crushed under pounds of metal, hay, and children. Granted I have to climb the entire way up here but oh wel. Roman meanwhile was the owner of the bottom bunk on the set next to me. 

"If you didn't get in trouble so much then you wouldn't have to worry about the pain," I point out, once again wondering how he thought any amount of resistance was worth this.

He looks up, scowling defiantly, "It's not my fault those idiots get mad when I don't feel like dying for the sake of helping them get rich."

I sigh and wrap some scrap cloth around the open whip marks, not having access to any better medical equipment. It's amazing enough that I could even find a spare shirt to scrap for bandages, and I preferred not to think about the previous owner of said shirt. It's no secret that when we become old enough we're sold off to some rich guy or farmer, or are just flat-out murdered so I don't expect their story to be some fairy tale. So instead I was just glad to have some hope of preventing a horrible death from blood loss. 

"Can I see your journal again?" He asks. He likes to look through the weekly entries I write because of the way I write like someone might actually see it and try to help. That, and he likes to look at the little drawings I make in the margins, such as a crescent moon or YinYangs.

Ugh I can't say no to that innocent-looking face, "Sure, but I haven't finished this week's page yet," I warn him, getting up to climb up to my bed. I toss my journal down to him before climbing back down and joining him on his mattress. 

He goes through all the filled pages, tracing a finger lightly over several doodles, "Can you draw me?" He asks randomly, perking up at the idea before flinching from his back injury. 

"I can try? I haven't really tried drawing real people before," I reply, not sure if I want to find out how good I am at drawing them. 

He holds my journal out to me, "Please please please try?? I'm hurt so you have to pity me," He reasons. 

"Fine, but it's gonna take a while and if I say it's bad then you can't look," I don't even know why he likes my drawings in the first place, so I'd rather not have him be offended when this looks like a person from a cave painting.

He holds up his hands in surrender, "Alright, but I already know it's gonna look amazing, like c'mon you're drawing me."

"I should make you look ugly on purpose just to humble you," I threaten.

"You wouldn't dare," He challenges as I go back up to grab my single, dull pencil.

When I come down he's practically bouncing in anticipation. I open to a new page, deciding that I can use a full page to try and draw him, and people in general if I have extra room. He sits patiently as I start, not wanting to wake anyone else up but clearly wanting to talk. He could never stay quiet for long though, and that was usually what got him in trouble, especially when he sassed one of the guards. A while later I had finished the drawing, I might do more later when I can see the paper better.

I examine the drawing, thinking that it looks pretty similar to Roman so I turn it around and pass it to him, "This looks amazing Vee!" He exclaims quietly, pulling me into a hug.

"Thanks," I whisper back, taking my notebook from him and heading up to my own bed.

Instead of falling asleep, I decide to finish summarizing the week's events. Since there was almost no way I was going to find another empty journal, I had to limit how much detail I could include, so one week was limited to a page. Even at that rate I'm already over halfway through it even though I got it a couple years into being here. I finish the entry off by writing about the food shortages that were enforced after some kid stole equipment. Obviously, the kid didn't confess because of the punishment that would ensue, but our stomachs' were definitely mad at them, whoever they were. That much was obvious by the chorus of hungry growls that could be heard at any hour of the day.

We could all use a little help from above down here, but being the reason over a hundred kids are even more hungry...let's just say it's time to stop praying to god and start making deals with the devil.

A/N: I cannot for the life of me remember which words an 11 year old would and wouldn't know. Can you remember knowing/using the words 'ensue' or 'injury' as an 11 year old? I know they aren't overly stupid, but I mean I was a pretty stupid kid (*cough* still am)