The Giant Maggot

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The Giant Maggot I am writing this from a ten by five foot room. From a small cell which ahs seven corroded bars on the window, the stench of unwashed clothes and oxidized metal formed from my own urine. A stiff and rough wooden bed. I feel my legs and arms and caress the swelled protuberances of my distorted and deformed body for my inevitable and failed attempt to escape. I stroke my back; one of the swellings is so bad it splits in the middle, all the blood clots overflowing after they’ve ruptured my skin. The fatal blow that ended my attempt of freedom. The food is dreadful. Thin soup where you can pick out the hairs of the cooks with both of your pupils shut. Bread which is either gone off or it’s as stale and solid as a marble slate. A small bit of meat which luckily gets cooked a few times, as nearly every prisoner in the facilities has caught the salmonella bug; and finally a glass of tap water. There is no one to talk to. I am on my own. Secluded. Isolated. Inaccessible. Cut off from humans. There is nothing that will confront my brain, something that will stimulate it. Some days I end up counting and taking notice of stuff, like how many times the guards have their brakes, what times they have them in, who patrols where and on what day. I even know their personal problems their family and even their childhood. I just listen. Time passes slowly. It seems an eternity. That’s why I’m writing a story. Once a day I’m authorized to go outside. The guards put me into a small courtyard. It has high walls all around it. I’m supposed to run or jog. This is my only chance to exercise and wake up the body. The exercise yard has no trees let alone even flowers. It’s bare and flat. It’s infinity since I haven’t seen or touched grass or plants, animals, or the beautiful sight of a woman.

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