VOICES

The room had four whitewashed walls that flowed into four corners. Each was a perfect ninety degree angle, forming lines indicated only by shadows. The temperature was an agreeable seventy degrees. The floor was plush and malleable, and there was a clean steel table across the way from a hole made to vacuum away urine and bowel movements after meals came out the other end.

“It’s for the birds, really. It’s all for the birds.”

The woman’s voice was shrill. She hunched like a magpie, her shawl strewn across her shoulders, her beady eyes flicking about. Her manicured nails clutched at the black hose covering her knobby knees.

“There’s no helping it. None at all. I’m telling you we’re stuck in here, and nothing’s going to get us out.”

“Shut. Your fucking. Mouth,” came a snarled reply. Across from her, huddled in his own corner, was a massive man. A serpent had been tattooed over his bald head and trailed down the back of his neck into his shirt. Its eyes were his eyes; those of a snake.

“Why should I?” She snapped back. “I’m just stating facts, and facts-”

“Aren’t. Helping. Anything.” The joints in his fingers popped as he balled his hands into fists. Each word was forced, garbled. It seemed to pain him to speak.

“It’s better than sitting here in silence. It’s better than sitting here staring at each other saying nothing.”

“Silence is. Better. Than your nattering.”

“When I want your opinion, Neanderthal, I’ll ask for it. You’re what got us in this mess in the first place.”

The veins on the man’s temples bulged. “What’d. You say. To me?”

“You heard me, bastard. This is all your fault. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be here. We’re trapped here because of your temper. If you hadn’t-”

He charged. His feet left impressions as he leapt, showing his weight. He reached his hands out and wrapped them around the woman’s throat, leering at her, choking off a scream. Her eyes flew wide with horror and the nostrils on her beak of a nose flared.

“Enough.”

It was a statement and an order. The snake returned to his corner, the magpie took rasping breaths. The speaker regarded both with cool reproach, his features sharp, his face clean-shaven and his eyes bright.

“You’re behaving like animals,” he said softly. “Show some decorum.”

“Come. Off it.”

“No,” he replied. He crossed his legs, straightening his spine. The curve of it fit into his corner perfectly. “She’s right. It is your fault, but it is also mine. I failed to stop your foolishness.”

The snake only growled in reply.

“I allowed you to overpower me. At perhaps the most crucial moment, you won out. Had I been stronger we would not be here now.”

“The fucker. Deserved. What he got.”

“Did he?”

“Yes. He did.”

“He deserved being stabbed thirty times?”

“Every. Single. Time.”

“And having his corpse mutilated? Having his skull smashed open on the pavement? Having his eyes gouged out wi-”

“HE. WAS FUCKING. MY WIFE!”

The shout reverberated impossibly off the walls. There was silence. Then:

“Your wife appeared to be fucking him back quite readily.”

The snake roared. The magpie cried out and curled into herself as he hurtled towards the quiet man, hands out to strike.

Their eyes met. It was silent enough to hear the breathing, hear the hearts beating. The quiet man remained seated, his legs crossed, his back straight and unrelenting. The snake hissed through his teeth.

A slit opened in one of the walls. A tray slid through bearing food and drink. It spun to the final corner and stopped.

Bony hands reached out and picked it up. The bedraggled man pulled it into his lap and lifted the spoon. Applesauce, strips of meat and green beans were all eaten in the same way. His mouth opened like a baby bird’s, giving a soft pop as he placed the worms inside. He macerated each bite slowly and noisily. The mechanisms in the room assured he was regularly bathed, yet he still managed to reek. Despair had a scent and it hung heavy on him.

“He should chew with his mouth closed,” cooed the magpie. “Should have beat that into him when I had the chance.”

“Would have. Stopped you,” grunted the snake. He glared at the woman with a malice that went beyond mere words.

“How?” She mocked. “By throwing a tantrum? You weren’t so big back then, boy. I should have, could have, curbed you then.”

“Could. Not have,” he replied confidently. “Not even. With your. Little stick.”

“He’s right,” said the quiet man. “Beating him never would have worked. It only made him stronger. It fed him.”

The woman huffed. “And what would you have suggested?”

The quiet man smiled. He pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket and placed them on his nose. They made his eyes seem larger. “Talking to him. You would have learned more about him by talking to him. Children learn nothing from fear.”

“Oh, and you got so far with just talking to him. We’re still here, aren’t we? Even after all your efforts?”

His large eyes grew sad. “Yes. We’re still here. He was a very troubled child.”

“Oh boo hoo, daddy beat me, mommy was a druggie. There’s plenty of kids out there like him, but they don’t KILL people!”

The snake hissed at the magpie again, but she ignored him.

“Every mind is different,” replied the quiet man. “Every child is different. But by beating on the boy, you only became another tormentor. You closed his mind to you the moment your switch landed across his legs.”

“I was trying to stop him from winding up HERE!” She shrieked. Her hands flashed about the room. Her expression showed her distaste. “Really, as though this is a feasible alternative to just killing someone and being done with it. Cruelty, I say. Whoever came up with that law, a hex on them!”

The spoon clattered down against the tray. All heads turned back towards the corner where the thin man was sitting. They watched him bite the scab off his thumb and press the bloody skin to the wall. There were many such marks. The first were beginning to fade, but he renewed them whenever the brown gave way to the white.

He began breathing heavily. Excitement got his legs churning. Bedsores covered them, signs of his rare movement, but he scrambled towards the wall where the slit had appeared before. He gazed up lovingly, adoringly, towards the ceiling and waited.

“Pathetic.” The woman’s face showed disgust.

“Weak.” The snake, for once, agreed.

“Sad,” murmured the quiet man pityingly.

An automated message played. The room was full of it, full of the metallic, unfeeling voice. The man’s ribs trembled with each breath as he reached desperately upwards and began to weep.

CONVICT: NATHANIEL JORDAN

CRIME: MURDER OF THE FIRST DEGREE

TIME SENTENCED TO SOLITARY CONFINEMENT: TEN YEARS

TIME ELAPSED: FIVE YEARS AND TWENTY ONE DAYS

A sound like a dying animal rose out of the man’s throat. He clawed at the wall, his tears disappearing into the mangled beard on his face. “Please,” he rasped. “Please. Please. Please.”

The magpie sighed and tugged at her shawl. “It’s for the birds,” she murmured. “It’s all for the birds.”