A TASTE OF HELL
A storm rages outside the structured high fenced prison wall. The window only admits a little portion of the moonlight to light up the cubicle cell Josh is sitting, legs clasp together on the floor. He lifts his bruised face in the direction of two inmates again. They are squeezing as mackerel in a tin with their discordant snores being the only music playing on. He finds it difficult to swallow even his saliva as a result his swollen and sore lips and only continues to groan as leaning fully against the brick walls of the potholed infested cell is also impossible. Not with the lashes that burst his delicate skin open.
The whips marred his sultry skin and the bruises on his face and cut on his swollen lips didn’t make for a pretty sight; starring at a prominent pothole that seems to outshine all others on the prison floor. His weak red eyes still bearing sparks in them. The ones that are his father’s.
To be continued…