IV



THE last quarter of the year 2012 was when the Penitentiary Pacific establishment officially took its first breath. Operations started when a total of one million prisoners from over a hundred countries were transported and permanently confined to the walls of this penal institution.
The thought of an underground prison was amazing and intriguing to most, but the realities of it were harsh. Although the inside looked nice to be a penitentiary, it was full of bad karma and served as a grim new world for each of the inmates and even for the military personnel. Everyone was from different parts of the world and came from different backgrounds, but nevertheless, they all had to adjust to their new surroundings. At least the prison officials got to periodically leave the penitentiary to go up to the island and see the sky and the clouds. The inmates who were housed there never got to leave ... ever.
Each and every prisoner suffered from mental depression at some point and time. Some breakdowns were tragic while others were only minor. Whatever the case, everyone experienced some type of mental collapse. Conforming was so difficult that suicides were commonplace, but for the most part, everyone found their own individual way of dealing with the many different attitudes and the constant drama that occurred.
Most inmates got no respect and were often mistreated by the prison guards. They were under constant surveillance and the food that they ate was known for causing nausea and diarrhea. Traumatic fights occurred on a regular basis and there was widespread distrust. The quicker the prisoners adjusted to this lifestyle the better off they were.
One particular inmate from Persia named Tabríz, found it very difficult to adjust to the long workdays and short mealtimes, and most of all the unpleasant knowledge of knowing that he would never be able to touch a woman again. His past eight weeks of not seeing any women was starting to take a toll on his brain. Because he was a former Cassonava back in Däräb, Persia, he was always plagued with constant thoughts of the opposite sex. And tonight his thoughts were even more vivid than normal has he gazed into the darkness.
He was on the bottom bunk of one of the two bunk beds that were in the cell. He heard snoring so he figured that all three of his cellmates were sleep. He was lying on his back with his left hand in his pants on his stiff organ. He had an unbelievable jones that he had to attend to. He arched his back and used his right hand to pull the elastic waistline of his uniform-pants down to his hips. Then he leaned back down and started to stroke his stiffness.
After fifteen or more strokes he paused and reached down to take the sock off of his right foot. Then he put the sock onto his organ as if it were an oversized cotton condom. Now he was ready to resume his stroking. He got comfortable and started to jack at a much faster rate than before. The images of three of his past women were rotating in his mind as the pleasure increased. But suddenly he stopped mid-thrust because he heard the faint sounds of movements that were not his.
Tabríz opened his eyes and looked to the right. He saw that his roommate on the bottom bunk parallel to his was staring at him as if watching an action film. And to make matters worse, when the peeping roommate saw that Tabríz was aware that he was watching, he didn't even flinch.
'What the fuck you lookin' at?'� Tabríz yelled in his native Farsi language, with no concerns of waking his other two cellmates.
The roommate smiled and started to laugh. He was from Iraq and he did not speak Farsi, but it was obvious to him that Tabríz was venting, so he started to laugh even louder. By now the other two roommates were up wondering what was going on. They started to listen as the scenario unfolded.
Tabríz felt ashamed and insulted to the hundredth degree. He yanked his uniform pants back up to his waist and jumped out of his bunk. Then he started to cuss while lungeing a downwards-diagonal stomp-kick at his menacing Iraqi cellmate.
Bändar caught a foot to the face because he underestimated Tabríz. Bändar was six-foot two hundred pounds and Tabríz was five-five one hundred thirty pounds. Bändar had no fear because of his size advantage. Without hesitation he angrily sprung up from his bunk and squared off with Tabríz. 'Come on you greasy bastard!'� he said in his sloppy American dialect. Then he said, 'Fuck you!'� in Arabic while taking a wild swing.
Tabríz was smaller but much faster. He swayed to the right of the punch and countered with a left-hook to Bändar's eye. Bändar's right visual immediately blurred, which caused his second swing to be even wilder than the first. Tabríz dodged and countered once again, this time with a hard jab to his opponent's kidneys.
A sharp and heavy 'Uuuuuhh!'� sound rushed from Bändar's larynx as the discomforting pain vibrated through his entire body, causing him to slightly bend over. Then as soon as Bändar's head lowered, Tabríz aimed a piercing upward knee-kick to his face. Bändar's nosebone cracked and blood immediately began to leak from both of his nostrils. His rage enhanced and he rushed Tabríz like a steamroller, but Tabríz was onpoint as his reflexes caused him to drop to the floor. Bändar tried to tackle him but he missed. Bändar ended up tripping and crashing into the bed and the wall.
The two observing cellmates were enjoying their view of this physical scuffle, and so were a couple of the inmates from the cell directly across the hall. The squabble appeared to be surreal, and since the prisoners were required to wear florescent uniforms from ten p.m. to five a.m., the fight looked like the tangling of two glowing uniforms. The only way that the two opponents could be distinguished was by the height of the uniforms.
Tabríz hopped back to his feet and got into a three-point stance while Bändar struggled to get out of the collapsed position that he was in...

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