July 18th

One of the Wasters died right in front of me today. I should be used to seeing people die, but I'm not.

I woke up from a lazy afternoon nap to find a Waster on his hands and knees, tossin' up blood. He went on for a few awful moments before droppin' face down on the floor. Months before, the Waster in question had been a healthy man.

He was one of the only male Wasters. I think he was gay, and I know this because The Man flung names at him, names I'm sure you can imagine. Still, He didn't kill him, and the cycle of torture and humiliation continued. Time went by, and he showed up to the trough every few days instead of every day. Eventually, he abandoned his clothes and slept near the Wasters in their own little corner of hell.

When Erin saw what happened with (darn it, I don't even know his real name. All's I can think to call him is faggot, as it's all I heard), she ran from the bathroom to see if I was hurt. I shrugged her off and had her to check on the Waster. After feeling his leathery wrist, she shook her head. Deader than dead.

After retrieving a tarp, Erin and I rolled the body up, finally dragging it to the bottom of the stairs for the Man to pick up later. I wish I could say it was my first time disposing of a body, but wishes are for kids.

I thought that was the end of things, but Erin caught my arm, forcing me to look at her. Her eyes were big and full of tears. She opened her mouth, but didn't speak. She shook her head, tried again, but nothing. At last, she led me to her bedroll where she pulled out a small paring knife from the folds of her blankets.

Possession of a weapon was against His rules, and punishable by death. Everyone knew it, and few disputed it. She offered me the knife, but I refused to accept.

"Why do you have that?" I stared at the knife like it was alive. Just having it out in the open made me nervous.

"He didn't notice I took it, one time, after..." elaborating on 'one time' was unnecessary, and Erin continued, "I took it for myself. I thought I might need it. I didn't want to end up like Mom, but I couldn't go on like I was either. Then--," she gestured at the unmoving roll of tarp at the foot of the stairs, "I saw that poor bastard, dead, and I'm not ready. Not ready to die like that, or like Seth, or like Mom, or Dad." She broke off. Later that night, I heard sniffles from her, but nothing more. She'll be okay now, I hope.

The knife stayed in her bedroll. There's no where else for us to keep it. Such a small thing, but it's burning under the blanket, a red siren hidden in plain sight.

A sickening thought, but I'm glad the dead man served a purpose, if only to make Erin want to live. An even sicker thought, but I'm glad she wants to live, because it means I won't be alone. Rolling the dead man in tarp was like second nature, but it made me think more on our first days here.

I can remember my parents huddling with me and Erin in a corner. They tried to shield us kids from the Man's view. He laughed before taking Erin to the kill room for the first time. Dad tried to stop him, but got punched in the jaw.

I didn't know what he was doing with my sister, couldn't imagine. Mostly I wanted to know why. Was he questioning her? Was he taking her away forever?

Thirty minutes later, He came out and dragged my mother into the room too. Screaming, moaning, and grunting. They must have been going through rigorous training, or an obstacle course from the sound of it. The noises really bothered my father, who covered his ears with his hands the way I used to do during scary movies. It was funny, but really, too strange to be truly funny.

Later, but not much later, my mother and Erin stumbled from the Kill room, wiping away tears. Bruises bloomed on their arms and necks. No wonder they had been screaming; he hurt them. I couldn't have known everything then, not when the gist of my sexual education consisted of glimpses at my mom's fashion magazines.

The Man exited the kill room after them, a big smile on his face. He nonchalantly zipped up his pants and headed back up the basement stairs.

To His back, my father was screaming curses, pleading with him.

"Let us go!"

* * * *

July 21st

I woke up today with a boner. Dad explained to me the basics of what to expect as "a man", and he told me to look out for morning wood. The term made me laugh back then, and it still sounds funny, but not as funny as Gary's term for it: a hard-pecker sunrise.

Getting a sunrise woody is a big deal down here because there's no goshdarn way to hide it. At home, I could wake up, marvel at my hardened gizmo, and it would go away after my morning pee. Here, it's hard (haha, pun totally intended) to make it to the bathroom first, and on my way there, I have to walk past everyone. Before I get out of my bedroll, I have to conjure up the most heinous images I can to get my guy to wilt. Usually, I give a good long (pun again intended) look at the Wasters, and it goes away. Today, it worked like always, but not before my sister whispered,

"Jeez, bout to poke some eyes out, brother?"

I covered up best I could, but I couldn't cover up my deep humiliation.

The one thing to take the stink off of me was the news.

Newbies. A buzz is going around the basement about the newbies The Man brought home last night. We knew He had gone hunting because we heard the heavy front door open and close. That hardly ever happens anymore.

He came back a couple hours later, and there was shuffling, muffled voices, and then shouting. I waited for Him to throw new captives down here, but it never happened. Whatever trials He brought on them, He visited it on them in the privacy of His own living room. Poor devils.

I wonder how He got them to follow Him here in the end. Everyone's story is different. Did He catch them at the nearest house? Did He pull them over with false pretenses? Or did He scan the streets, looking for the perfect people to abduct?

Wait. I hear the basement door opening. More to come later.

* * * *

July 23rd

They're a strange couple.

Of course, they're scared and keeping to themselves, so I can't tell much about them. They don't know what to think, like about the Wasters. The Wasters shock newcomers, with their skin-and-bone frames, clothes hangin' off 'em like sacks, (the few who still wear clothes). It's their eyes, and the emptiness in them. They're dying to eat, but at the same time, they're starving themselves.

Anyhow, the newbies still put out that vibe, like if one of us approached them, they'd attack. Erin and I kept our distance, even though she wanted to talk to them 'cause they look to be close to her age. Well, closer than any of the others. When she saw how terrified they were, she thought better about speaking with them.

While I would never wish our fate on anyone, it's nice to have new people down here. They're going to be able to tell us how things are, on the Outside.

If He doesn't break their spirit first. He's been splitting them up, throwing the young guy in the spare room, and taking the girl in the kill room with Him. It might seem like He's doing them a favor that way, but really He's making it worse for the guy (or boyfriend, whatever). If He brought the boyfriend into the kill room, then at least he could see what was going on. By locking him away in the room right next door, He's jump-starting the guy's anxiety. I bet he's chewin' his nails the whole time, wishing the walls would melt away so he could charge in and stop his girl from getting hurt.

Then again, he might welcome the solitary sessions, because before He takes the girl into the kill room, He likes to get things rollin' by torturing the boyfriend. When the boyfriend comes out, he's bleeding from lotsa different places. Last time, he vomited all over the cement floor.

Tomorrow,I think I might say hello.

****

A/N: If you liked the chapter, throw a vote my way!

Be sure to check out crazygirlTNT's story, The Girl with the Green Ribbon, a horror story about a mysterious green ribbon and a girl's need to wear it, or else...

https://www.wattpad.com/story/43215349-the-girl-with-the-green-ribbon