Life in the Underworld

1

Love is what scares me most in this world. Always at risk of being ruined and leaving you to suffer at the actions of someone else.

Most of my life, all I've known is struggle. The constant fear of people around me, the worry of when I'll eat my next meal, the ever growing rage at the world, the hatred I felt for everything in my life.

The struggle is all I have known, and all I expect for my future. After years of being the girl who was beaten, I reshaped myself and became the girl who fought. It was as if that ruined child died and I was reborn.

Everyone has scars of their own, demons that haunt them in their times of peace, enemies slithering around; all preparing for your downfall.

There is a difference between physical and mental scars however.

Physical scars, are the marks that get left on someone's body. Engraved into the skin like writing on a tomb stone. They flaw what was once a perfect smoothness, into a rouged, horrid past.

Mental scars though, are far worse. They're the scars others cannot see. Mental scars are wounds that never fully healed, playing away like a piano in an orchestra for years nonstop.

For me, I have both.

As a child, I remember dreaming of a knight in shining armor who would come and save me from my life. Someone who would take me away from the woman who is meant to be my mother.

Back when I believed there was a god, who wasn't a total dick, I'd pray every night that he would send my messiah. But, like every child must learn some day, knights in shinning armors are only in fairy tales...

The jail cell door opened with a clang, and I was guided inside by the guard. He took off the cuffs behind my back and left the tiny room, letting the cell door close behind me. Smirking to myself, I leaned back on the concrete wall and stared at all the cells below me. The chatter of fellow long time inmates overwhelmed the cries of the recently convicted.

The new kids always suffered from homesickness during the first week. Most of them spoilt brats who could no longer use Daddy's money and Mummy's tits to escape a sentencing. Those like me though, we are thankful to be locked away in juvenile detention. At least here, we get shelter, clothing, showers and food on a daily basis. The government forces teachers to come and educate us; yet it never works.

"What're you smirking about?" My cell mate, and current best friend, Rose asked.

Rose is the typical run away who stole one to many things and got sentenced to two weeks in juvie; the first time. This is her third time being in here, and we have formed a very close bond.

"I stole his cigarettes." I chuckled, pulling out a brand new pack from my navy prison clothes.

Giggling, Rose chucked me the lighter from beneath her pillow case and hopped down off the top bunk. The two of us shared a cigarette, hoping to save them as much as possible.

The guards started their rounds an hour later, telling all of us it was time for bed and the lights went out. I laid down on the bottom bunk of my bed, staring up at the photos I placed beneath Rose's mattress on the frames.

It was photo of me, my mother and brother. We were huddled up under a tree in the park, after playing football for hours. My hair had grown considerably since then, now curling tightly down to my waist, and my feminine figure had appeared more with my age. Unfortunately, I haven't grown since, leaving me at five-foot-one.

"Kal?" I heard a quieter tone of Rose's voice than usual.

"Yeah." I answered, rubbing my tired eyes.

"Do you ever miss the outside world?" She asked me, leaning down so she was looking at me from the top bunk.

I took a moment to ponder her question. After everything I've seen beyond the barbed wire fences and tall trees to over shadow the prison from the city. There's times in my life where I wished I could be anywhere but the outside world.

To most people in here, this prison, is a prison. To me it is a sanctuary. My sixteen year old self learnt this the second I stepped through the gates eight months ago.

If it weren't for this prison and the security it offers to keep us inside, I have no idea where I'd be now. But I know one thing; there's no way in hell I'd be safe.

And I'm due to be released in a month...

"No." I answered.

Rose fell asleep an hour later, but I remained awake. I've always had trouble sleeping, especially after everything that happened. So I am used to the constant tiredness I feel, and the need to sleep fighting my constantly overthinking brain.

I've often thought about what my life would've been like had things been different. What if my mother was an actual parent, someone who I could look up to and aspire to be. If my brother was still around to shield me from the path I took. If the family I longed for was real.

When I was little, I often heard stories about my father from my older brother. Apparently he was a good parent, far better than our mother, and he had custody of our other brothers. Me being the child with abandonment issues, I refused to hear anymore.

Yet, when you're stuck in a cell with no one to talk to for hours, you can't help imagine fantasies in your head. All the childhood dreams that never became a reality had their chance to break free from the cage I locked them away into.

But then, once again, I was brought back into the real world. And my mind instantly remembered that, in a few weeks, I will be released to the outside once again. Left to survive on the streets of Manchester all alone, or even worse, foster care till I turn eighteen.

I'd gladly live on a park bench again if it means I won't have to deal with a foster family.