02-21-2014, 09:24 AM
Six Years Ago
The first year in San Quentin had proven the most challenging. It afforded him the luxury of personal penance. His deficiencies had been the cause of his incarceration and the death of Elli and for that he had decided to pay the price.
Three times he allowed himself to be beaten within an inch of his life in the first year. He appeased the shallow brutality of the prisoners in silence. Each blow that fell and every drop of blood that spilled from his body served not only as a lesson but a reminder of what had been lost. He held no grudges against his assailants. He did not even learn their names or burn the image of their faces into his mind. The sacks of corrupted humanity escaped his notice along with the pain. All he saw was the magnificent glow of Power that lay beyond his reach.
Each time he suffered, he grew closer to the light that was his world. He spent days on end staring into the mesmerizing depths of ecstasy only to brush its surface and fall from the heights of expanded perception. The days drifted in an unending dream of metallic solitude where he was occasionally awoken by a faint gleam of metaphorical sunlight.
Like all dreams must, his came to an end. It was irritating that it had taken him so long, but the euphoria of success overwhelmed vanity. It had happened so suddenly after an endless desert of failure. Not satisfied with his blood, one brute of a man who was likely mad and most certainly dangerous wanted more.
Damien remembered the day well. It had been overcast and rain drizzled the fenced yard. The two others turned away as the beast strode out with all of the pomp of a preening peacock. Damien was lathered in the sweat of monotonous exercise that kept his body in top condition.
“I have heard stories from the boys, but I did not believe that a man could be so pretty,”
the beast had said with taunting scorn. “The fuck you doing in here, pretty boy? You don’t belong; someone needs to teach you your place.”
He heard pants drop amidst the soft patter of rain and turned from his contemplation of the grey ocean above. “You are right, I am not like you.”
His head spun as a fist struck his cheek with sluggish brutality and he dropped to the ground. The beast knelt behind him like a mongrel and panted in his ear. “I’m going to rip your ass so hard you won’t sit straight for days.”
Anger flared as he struggled against the putrid heaving form above him. Who was this bastard who thought he could defile whomever he pleased?
Damien did not care who, he would not allow it. Could not. He stretched his mind towards the glow of power, willing it to submit. It could not fail him here. He had grasped it before and he could do so again.
The sound of ripping cloth cemented his resolve and like a hammer he struck fast and hard. Damien jerked his elbow up into the beast’s chest with the essence of power pervading his mind. He smelled burning hair as the sharp edge collided with a meaty rib-cage and a howl of surprise and pain was the last thing he heard before his world faded to black.
When he had regained consciousness, Beech stared into his cell with a patient gaze. He then related the rest of the story. The brute had fled like a whipped cur alerting the guards where they found Damien unconscious but unsullied.
He dismissed the incident, his anger already faded. He had more important things, important revelations. The glow had heeded him. He tried again, but it did not come, yet his mood was not soured. It had responded to his call.
It was only a matter of time before he would control it.
Edited by Damien, Feb 21 2014, 09:25 AM.
The first year in San Quentin had proven the most challenging. It afforded him the luxury of personal penance. His deficiencies had been the cause of his incarceration and the death of Elli and for that he had decided to pay the price.
Three times he allowed himself to be beaten within an inch of his life in the first year. He appeased the shallow brutality of the prisoners in silence. Each blow that fell and every drop of blood that spilled from his body served not only as a lesson but a reminder of what had been lost. He held no grudges against his assailants. He did not even learn their names or burn the image of their faces into his mind. The sacks of corrupted humanity escaped his notice along with the pain. All he saw was the magnificent glow of Power that lay beyond his reach.
Each time he suffered, he grew closer to the light that was his world. He spent days on end staring into the mesmerizing depths of ecstasy only to brush its surface and fall from the heights of expanded perception. The days drifted in an unending dream of metallic solitude where he was occasionally awoken by a faint gleam of metaphorical sunlight.
Like all dreams must, his came to an end. It was irritating that it had taken him so long, but the euphoria of success overwhelmed vanity. It had happened so suddenly after an endless desert of failure. Not satisfied with his blood, one brute of a man who was likely mad and most certainly dangerous wanted more.
Damien remembered the day well. It had been overcast and rain drizzled the fenced yard. The two others turned away as the beast strode out with all of the pomp of a preening peacock. Damien was lathered in the sweat of monotonous exercise that kept his body in top condition.
“I have heard stories from the boys, but I did not believe that a man could be so pretty,”
the beast had said with taunting scorn. “The fuck you doing in here, pretty boy? You don’t belong; someone needs to teach you your place.”
He heard pants drop amidst the soft patter of rain and turned from his contemplation of the grey ocean above. “You are right, I am not like you.”
His head spun as a fist struck his cheek with sluggish brutality and he dropped to the ground. The beast knelt behind him like a mongrel and panted in his ear. “I’m going to rip your ass so hard you won’t sit straight for days.”
Anger flared as he struggled against the putrid heaving form above him. Who was this bastard who thought he could defile whomever he pleased?
Damien did not care who, he would not allow it. Could not. He stretched his mind towards the glow of power, willing it to submit. It could not fail him here. He had grasped it before and he could do so again.
The sound of ripping cloth cemented his resolve and like a hammer he struck fast and hard. Damien jerked his elbow up into the beast’s chest with the essence of power pervading his mind. He smelled burning hair as the sharp edge collided with a meaty rib-cage and a howl of surprise and pain was the last thing he heard before his world faded to black.
When he had regained consciousness, Beech stared into his cell with a patient gaze. He then related the rest of the story. The brute had fled like a whipped cur alerting the guards where they found Damien unconscious but unsullied.
He dismissed the incident, his anger already faded. He had more important things, important revelations. The glow had heeded him. He tried again, but it did not come, yet his mood was not soured. It had responded to his call.
It was only a matter of time before he would control it.
Edited by Damien, Feb 21 2014, 09:25 AM.