Shadow Hunters

Repeating

The tyres against the scratchy surface rattled, threatening to fall apart. It was night time, the hungry stormy sky raiding the streets and any lone man. The van continued to bump its way. With him sat two more police man and of course a nurse. The three of them recited the silence except for him. He was forced to comply with the toneless silence for he was under the spell of depressents and shackled arms. They were taking him to the asylum.

The asylum was on the far outskirt of the city with a high way in front of it. This was the only way.

He dreamt.

The cell he was kept in and his relentless cursing. They convicted him of being in gang fights and assaulting civilian. The civilian was the girl who hit him. Justice makes no sense.

He was put into prison. The other prison mates were enemies and acquaintances alike. Some of them approached him with sympathy. Most came for revenge. He broke a few heads and knocked off many teeth from those twenty something rascals. The injuries were serious. They put him in twenty four hour observation as the rest of the rascals got band aids. When he was let out again from the observation cell, the old beast was back. Not from his own accord. The rascals and the cowards provoked him.

It was just four days. He was oncoming agitated by the moment. The beds were hard, the food was bland, the officers cruel. He hated to be confined in it, at times he was suffocating. And then they'll make him do work.

The first two days he had dish washing duty in the mess hall. As he wasn't compatible with the rest of the prisoners, he was transferred to toilet cleaning.
And there was nothing good about it.

These toilets were used by prisoners when they were out of their cells to work their shifts. And by no means it was any good. It ricked of urine smell, the floors dirty and moulded. And he didnt bother scraping any of that off.

The first officer who came to check his work criticized him as being lazy and uncaring with his work. At that moment, he wanted to smash the officer's head against the toilet door. But he resisted. The officer chewed on a gum and and had a bald head. His small squinty eyes exuded evil. And more importantly, he watched this man take down six feet four inch tall inmates for serving small portions of beans in dinner. He didn't want to upset him.

The officer blew a bubble, popping it on his face.

"You have one hour" his squeeky voice commanded. Then he spat on the floor right beside where his foot was. "Clean it"

The officer left. The moment the flabby police man was on the other side of the door, he threw his mop at the same door. It's head detached from the handle during the impact. But his raid wasn't over. He kicked at the faucet spraying water everywhere. He took off the fire extinguisher cylinder and smashed it against the toilet. It cracked and leaked white vapour. He panted and sweated. His every breath reminding him of the day he was caught on the drenching rain of a putrid storm.

He looked around to the shadows. The same shadow that costed him his freedom. The air in the prison was like poison. He stamped his feet in the direction and pounded his fist on the wall consumed by the darkness. The mad ferocity caused his knuckles to break and bleed. Then he froze. The bulbous head of a shadow child hung in admonition after taking his fists. His eyes dilated to the old thirst he had fused with vindication. He pulled out the long creature. Six feet this one. And then their was no stopping him. For a minute, he was possessed by the devil. The creature shrilled, it's body breaking away and the black smoke everywhere, blocking his vision. He didn't hear the washroom door bang open and three officers come in.

When the smoke cleared and the creature's body fragmented to nothing, his conscience resurfaced and a sudden awareness conflicting him. There were the officers. Two held out their guns. The other one was shocked by this mental breakdown, contemplating the damage around. He had his hand on his nose, the nitrogen from the fire extinguisher fouled the air. He forgot about the CC cameras.

The third officer uttered what he hated most. "My God! He's mental!"

The next day he was sedated and riding away to the assylum for mentally disturbed. From the depressent used on him, he can't make much of his sorrounding. The nightmares were back. The three months of torture dominated his dreams.