Father Figure

[sybil]

I watched as the guards strode away from the holding cell. Laughing, they told jokes and found each other funny. I'd known going in, that the risk of getting punished was there. No longer did I have faith that this could never happen here. I could hear the sounds of the others down the corridor. The fragile, with their rasping, mouth breathing, that huddle on their piss stained mattresses. The angry counting the ways they would kill their captors, if they believed in killing. The tragic who were never meant to be here at all, recounting the ways their lovers had betrayed them in the name of the Father.