"The Bulwark's Shadow" - A Novel in Progress via Steemit (Part I, Chapter 3)

I'm posting up the chapters of this uncompleted book as I hope the Steemit community might offer up its criticism (which would force me to finish it, honestly). Started in 2008, this was my first foray into novel writing and was my undergraduate thesis required to graduate. The story is about an executioner in the not-too-distant future. Executioners are highly trained individuals with extensive educations built to help them execute their prisoners in the exact same manner that the prisoner's victims died. This is called the law of retaliation or lex talionis; you may know it better as "eye for an eye."

Because I was also getting my degree in philosophy, I wanted to explore the ethics involved. While I feel I'm a better writer now and could certainly expand most of this book, I also really enjoy criticism as I'm usually too close to the work to see what's working and what's not (though in this case, there's plenty that I feel is not working). So please...feel free to criticize the work if you'd like, but be constructive about it. Simply saying "this part isn't good" doesn't tell me much; don't hesitate to tell me why it's not good or offer up possible alternatives to make it better.

Thanks in advance!

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Previous Sections/Chapters:

The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I,Chapter One
The Bulwark's Shadow - Part I, Chapter Two

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It’s five minutes until quitting time and I’ve spaced off. The brick wall has become the most interesting thing to stare at and I’m at that point where I’m trying to forget the day’s events. Today has dragged terribly and I can’t wait to get home.

There is a scream that rips from my lips.

Papers in white and yellow are flying all around me and instead of drinking my coffee, I am now wearing it. I’m out of my chair faster than I’m out of my daze and the sound of laughter comes from across the office. Dammit.

“Ho-lee jeezus that was funny, Brein. You were WAY out there that time!” the warden says with a wheezing laugh akin to the sound of sandpaper on cement. I give him a weak grin.

“Yeah, it’s been kind of a shitty day.”

The entire office howls in laughter, most of the guys doubled over and pounding their fists on the desks, faces bright red. The joke is over my head until I realize why it’s so funny. Today’s execution soiled himself before I even got started. The warden swaggers his way over to me. He’s one of those guys who holds all the extra fat in his belly, so his legs overcompensate by bowing out. “Sorry Brein, I didn’t mean to hit your coffee. I was just trying to distract you. Take this file home with you tonight,” he said, collecting the papers from the desk and the surrounding floor, “because I need you to look it over carefully. Let me know by the end of next week if you want it or not.” The grin on his face had disappeared, replaced by a thin, tightlipped line.

In fact, nobody was laughing anymore. I scanned the room only to find averted looks and nervous shoe gazing. The room was deathly silent save for the slow drip of coffee onto the floor beneath my desk. “Yeah, okay. I’ll take a look at it. Why the stigma attached to it though?” I asked.

He looked back, halfway over his shoulder as if looking for some advice from the other guys, but they had already started filing out of the office quickly, apparently not wanting any part of the conversation. The End of Day tone had begun too, so all the other guards were on their way out as well. “I just thought you’d like the option to take this one or leave it. Makes no difference to me or the guys and nobody’ll think differently of you if you choose not to take it, but look it over, let me know.”

I was still holding onto the same folder, worn and tattered from years of hibernation within the file cabinet. It wasn’t thick, but it immediately felt heavier than normal.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” the warden queried, changing the topic quickly.

“Not really,” I replied, sopping up the rest of the coffee on my desk. Thankfully nothing important got tainted, but I’m now staying late to clean. “I was thinkin I might head out to the country for a day or two. I’ve been kinda…’off’ lately. Haven’t really been sleepin too well.”

He chuckled. “Well, it’s not like you’ve got the most stress-free job in the world, ya know. If you need an extra day or so, ya know, ta get yer head right or ta just get some rest, lemme know.”

“I appreciate that, thanks.” I tossed the first of the soaked paper towels into the trash can, thudding into a long echo. It was almost satisfying. “You know I won’t need the extra day though, right?”

“Yeah, go home. I’ll get the rest of this,” he said with a grin. “My mess, I’ll clean it up.”

“She’s all yours boss, I’ll see you on Monday.”

As I left the office, I could hear the sound of rustling papers, more coffee splashing to the floor and a string of swear words that would’ve made my father blush, only because he hadn’t said them himself.

“Hey Brein! Headed home already?”

“Heya Charlie. Yeah, my room is cleaned and nothing else on my to-do list, so, time to have a drink and relax.”

“Sounds like a plan, my friend. Want a drinkin buddy tonite? I’ve got nothin’ to do and I get off in about an hour. Whaddya say?”

I grinned. Charlie was always a hoot to drink with. Not only was he my cousin but he’d typically drink four times more than me and I’d still be the one acting hammered. “Yeah. 7ish? The usual drinkin hole?”

“You betcha. First round’s on you!” he chuckled. I gave him my key card and he swiped it, elevator doors opening up ready to transport me above ground. I walked to the back, leaning against it as he poked his head between the doors. “So I heard you got “the file…” He said the last part with emphasis. I’m sure I looked confused until Charlie nodded at the file in my hand.

“Oh. Uh…sure. I haven’t looked at it yet, so I have no idea what it’s about.”

“Well, look at it before you come to the bar. We’ll have to discuss it.”
The elevator doors shut, ending the conversation for me. I looked down at the file, now thoroughly curious. ‘It can wait,’ I thought to myself. ‘I’ll shower first.’

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About 15 years ago, some politicians split off of the main three parties and created the Aesthetics. Aestheticians believed heavily in the out of sight, out of mind philosophy. For years they lobbied to put all prisons below ground. Their arguments included (but were not limited to) unsightly prisons moved below the general populace, the increased difficulty of escapes and the total communistic nature of the prison surviving on its own, aside from using tax payer dollars to pay the salaries of the executioners and the warden. It looked good to the majority, so here I am, walking through the stone hallways, 2 miles underground and a cool seventy-five degrees in temperature. It’s dark stone illuminated by bright halogen lighting. The halls are just barely arm’s length apart and go on for several hundred feet. Not much escapes our attention and the cameras are few and far between due to the space issues. It is actually safer than the prisons I saw on television when I was younger.

Maximum security and minimum security are now archaic terms. Non-violent offenders are the maids or clean up crew of the system. They cook, they clean, they take care of the general upkeep of the prison. In order to discern them from the Violents or the few visitors we receive, a phosphorous implant is put into the top of their hands. This lets us determine who gets to go where within the confines of the system and who is actually a non-violent offender. Once non-violents (or NV’s) are released, the chip is taken out and 85% of the time, we never see them again. The other 15% either end up back in here repeatedly or they become Violents.

Don’t get me wrong, most of the NV’s are actually okay. You put a desperate man in a bad situation and more than likely, he’ll make a bad decision. Most of them serve their time and leave, never to come back. I like to think that what I do here is part of the reason for that. See, the Aestheticians had convinced everyone that there needed to be harsher punishments against the beauty of what society had become. Next thing I know, I’m whisked away from my high school and put into an accelerated learning program, paid for by the state. My father had tipped them off to my intelligence, ‘them’ being the prison and state officials looking to make the underground prison dream a working reality.

With the prisons moving underground and becoming more brutal in meting out punishment, the state offered free tuition to students of well above average IQ’s so that they could become executioners. Not only was I put through some severe studying, but I was also being observed (along with all the other students) as to how morally flexible I could be. I was flexible enough. I’m not morally delinquent, in fact, quite the opposite, but when faced with the issue of killing a man for breaking the law, I typically have no qualms. Especially since most of the people I kill are here because they killed, mutilated, raped, and/or tortured their victims.

Over the years, the prison system literally went “out of mind.” We’re still paid well, but it’s a chore getting supplies. Think what you want about the prison system now in relation to back then, it’s still a business and we don’t get light bulbs for free. Half of the ones we’ve got burned out long ago and the ones that flicker now are close to dying. Prison supply closets don’t exist. Unless you’re talking about super toxic anti-bacterial sprays used after executions. It’s almost as if the state is saying “Thanks for all the hard work, but don’t expect us to kiss your ass for it.”

I got to the surface elevator and stepped on, flipping through the file quickly. The rusted metal chugged to life in the dark tunnel and moved ever so slowly. This was another brilliant move on the parts of the prison design team. Since this was the only way in or out of the prison, if someone had escaped and made it this far (unlikely), the surface elevator moved slow enough to warn the guards topside so that they could call in backup and have a small army waiting with electraprods in hand.

My eyes moved through the pages of the folder, barely noticing names and dates, until I came to the photos, paper-clipped to the back of the folder. I remembered this face. It was all over the news as I was in school and the subject eventually became a key part of one of my classes. There was nothing unique about his features: brown hair, brown eyes, simple nose, plain chin, medium height and weight, basic allergies; average in every way except for his being locked up in our prison. As long as I had been here, it was hard to believe I never knew he was here too.