Compatible Monsters - 2

An orderly named Chuck pushes a cart;

It's breakfast time in cell block 23.

He doesn't like this part of the prison

In spite of only two inmates down there,

But Chuck has his opinions about them.

'That new girl is a total basketcase,

Slaughtered both her parents in their home,

And left them soaking in tubs full of bleach.

Pity she's completely lost her mind --

She'd be a looker, if she wasn't nuts.

Long dark hair, halfway down her back,

The body of a gymnast, toned and firm,

Wild, dark eyes, filled with pain and fear

And rage. Don't get close enough to touch,

She has no problem injuring herself, 

And even less issue with hurting me.'

He glances at the bitemark on his hand;

A souvenir from when he dropped his guard:

He saw her there, slumped in the corner,

And, trying to be helpful, took her arm

To help her up, and paid for that mistake.

Entirely his fault -- he knows the rules,

No touching the inmates, at any time.

He won't be breaking that rule anymore.

'Still, she bit me, and she's got to pay;

'I can't let a thing like that just slide;

These filthy inmates need to know who's boss.'

Sedatives, in case she isn't calm,

Perhaps a little extra for her, yeah?

Maybe come and visit her at night

Quietly, and teach her some respect.

Every dog can learn how to obey.

But what about the inmate right next door?

Chuck's pretty sure that psycho never sleeps--

But even if his deeds are overheard,

Who's going to believe a lunatic?

'But that's not the real issue, is it, Chuck?

The reason that you're second guessing this

Is because you've read the monster's file,

And what he is scares the hell out of you.'

Chuck's been working here less than a year,

And has dealt with murderers before. 

Many of them are intelligent,

Well-mannered and polite within these walls--

But one mustn't forget why they are here:

They're dangerous -- spilled more than their share

Of innocent blood - and would spill again,

But that inmate is the worst of all. 

His body count is yet unverified,

But he's confessed to over sixty kills.

He knew each of his victim's names by heart,

And details the police left unreleased;

But never took a single souvenir --

Nor did he leave any evidence;

Had he chose not to turn himself in,

They never would have captured him at all.

He preyed upon the high society;

(He claimed they were of little moral worth)

Hid in shadow till the moment came,

Immobilized his victims, stripped them down,

Bathed them, trimmed their hair and fingernails,

Dressed them, even did makeup and hair. 

Not too graphic, but that's not the end --

It's what he did with them before they died.

Chuck has seen some most disturbing things

Within the files of those contained in here:

Cannibalism, necrophilia,

Depravities to make the stomach turn--

Images Chuck wishes he'd unsee.

But this inmate -- his work is unique;

Every victim found was found alive

Despite the agony they must have felt.

Not all victims were dispatched this way,

Only at the height of his career;

Some were found in random shallow graves,

Some in unexpected hidden spots.

Those chosen to become his works of art

Were strung up like bloody marionettes,

Posing them in macabre tableaus

Revealing their transgressions to the world.

If evil were to have a human face,

Thank God it's well contained inside this place. 

 ----

 © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.