Oranges and Lemons {Diaries of Dainn} (W.I.P)

Alternatively titled 'Shuckscapades'

(suppose I should probably slap a warning on this and say it's probably going to be grimdark y'all. with naughty words. and mentions of stuff. i don't know whatever I'LL OBEY DA RULES PROMISE.)




Monday
-

Do you know the history behind the poem?
It's old.
Things with histories usually are.
I know that children sing it. It's a nursery rhyme.
Anything else?
How many beatings do you think I'll have today?
The lyrics relate to the killing of prisoners.
I think twenty.
 The chiming of the bells would begin once the executions took place.
A little macabre for children to sing such a chant, don't you think?
Have you ever heard 'Ring Around the Roses'? Much darker.
The warden's been jiggling his keys for five minutes now.
He has bags under his eyes.
Latelatelatelatelatelate- my session is late today.
The warden has one hand on one single bar.
Grits his teeth.
He's never had such a willing sacrifice before.
I think he's tired of all this.
Ding dong.
I'm not.



Tuesday
-

I don't really have a psychiatrist- that's too formal a word. We don't do formalities down here. Not in our family. She's more of a 'concerned advisory'. Ha ha. Anyone can be 'concerned' for money- I wonder how much they pay her, to sit in this little room with me, with two Hrafnung guard standing either side of her chair, while I sit opposite, in mine, chained? Whatever the salary is, it isn't enough.
"Tell me, Dainn," she asks, leaning forward. Her hair is loose today, long and brown, it falls past her shoulders, "-did you do what we talked about last time? Did you write an entry?"
She knows full well I have, and one of the guards hands her the little black book that was confiscated off me when I entered the room.
I can tell by his face he's read it.
I don't think he likes it.
I watch Carala read the first page. One corner of her mouth twitches and she swallows hard.
"I don't think-"
"Do you like it?" I interject quickly. My seat wriggles beneath me.
"Dainn-"
"Not much happened Monday, but I think I summed it up rather wonderfully."
"Dainn, this isn't what I asked you to do."
I give her this confused sort of expression, "That's a diary, isn't it? You asked me to write a diary."
"I asked you to write your thoughts, your feelings. This-" She holds up my book, "-this doesn't make any sense."
I've never been one for scathing critique.
"Who wants to read my thoughts and feelings?" My voice sounds like a hiss but I'm not really controlling it.
"I do." Carala cooes.
Lies. Liar.
"You do for money." I coo back. She seems to stiffen at that but tries to shrug it off.
"Dainn," she begins and my eyes roll. Here it comes. "-use this diary to express yourself, in a way that doesn't harm others. A meaningful outlet for all your creativity."
Urgh, I hate it when she tries to flatter me like this. Are you reading this, Carala? STOP FLATTERING ME, SWEETHEART.
"I thought I was being creative in Monday." I counter her.
"Write down how you feel, and write down what happens during your day-"
"I did."
"-in more detail, Dainn."
There's a pause between us.
"You want me to write down every single minute thing that happens in my day?"
"If you like, yes."
"All these 'sessions', every single prison meal-"
"Of course."
"-every beating, every rape-"
"W-well, maybe skip a little on the finer details-"
"Why? You just said to include everything that happens in my day. Does that surprise you? Does it disgust you?"
"I just feel-"
"I would've thought you would've liked to have read about what happens in my daily routine, Carala. Perhaps maybe hearing about how your colleagues treat me in their chambers fills you with some sort of satisfaction that the convicted are getting what they deserve."
"Dainn, please-"
"Or is it the rape? Does that make you uncomfortable, Carala? Poor thing. But you don't have to hear it from my mouth, perhaps you'd be better off hearing it from Svetka?" I gesture then to the guard left of Carala, "Tell her, Svet, tell her all about it. That one about the branding poker- that's a cracker. Carala, you're going to love this."


My session ended early that day.
But at least my beating came earlier.
Go me ~


Wednesday
-

They keep me alone for most of the day. I overheard the warden once say that I was a threat to my fellow inmates and they were a threat to me.
Puuuuuuh-leeeeeeeeeaze. These brutish thugs, slow-stepping thieves and dim-witted killers are fathoms below my level.
Ah, but then what are you doing here, Dainn?

I sleep quite a lot. Carala asked me once if I dream a lot too. I think she suspects I dream of torture and sacrifice and chaos. Typical. So predictable. I think she gets off on all this. I do have dreams-yes, but they have no real significance, and they're usually the same format. Sleeping is a good way of staving off boredom in here. They don't let me outside, not anymore. Occasionally they take me for walks through the halls 'for exercise' but it's such a dull affair. The guards use it as an opportunity to parade me in front of the other inmates anyway, like dangling a piece of meat in front of lions. When I'm not in my sessions, or sleeping, or going for walkies, or -gods forbid, in the mess hall (nasty business) I sit in my cell and play games with Hyctor, who occupies the opposite. There aren't many of us in the 'mentally unstable' ward (that's the politically correct terminology), but Hyctor is one of those wailing, shrieking, howling 'chews my own arm' sort of crazy. Terribly uncouth, but wickedly fun to play with. I talk to him a lot and, of course, he isn't really one for much conversation asides from dribbling and the odd whimper, but he -sort of- listens, and I quite like that. So he listens to me talk about my pastimes and previous antics, rocking back and forth on his haunches and I unravel the explicit details. I've lost count on how many times I've told him about it all, but he seems to forget each time, so I think it only courteous to refresh his memory.

The assistant warden is a sick bastard.
Favours me in all the wrong sort of ways.
The prison is labelled a correctional facility, but we're only getting worse and worse down here.

One time, he threw a bone into my cell and made me chew on it like a dog while he watched. Said 'Be a good dog for me now, Dainn, and I'll make sure there's meat on it next time'.

Thinking about putting in a formal letter of complaint.

Thursday
-


Stabbed today.
I told them I didn't like the mess halls.

Friday
-

Sometimes I forget I even had a family at one stage. A mother. A father. Siblings. Very peculiar business. There was a time when I could remember every feature about their faces and reflect their voices clearly. Now, I can't even remember my sister's first name. Sometimes the fact that I even had a sister at one point surprises me. I don't remember their lives, only their deaths, but even then it's a little hazy in my memory now. Today Carala asked me why I felt it necessary to do what I did to those Drakonrhedi if I had such a poor memory of my family, and I remember the way her eyes looked so soft and crestfallen when she said that, like she felt so sorry for all those officers. I didn't answer her. She wasn't worth my voice in that moment.

There's a woman in the level below mine who ate her husband.
Today we compared notes. Her method was extravagant and unnecessary at best.
Surrounded by idiots in here. Might go mad.

Ha.


Saturday
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