Chapter 2: How Sweet the Sound

Grace discovers the joys of her new home at the work camp, and meets lots of new friends.

In religion and politics people's beliefs and convictions are in almost every case gotten at second-hand, and without examination, from authorities who have not themselves examined the questions at issue but have taken them at second-hand from other non-examiners, whose opinions about them were not worth a brass farthing. — Mark Twain

As the police car slowed on the rough gravel road and pulled up to a closed gate with a small wooden guard shack, Grace looked out all the windows to see her surroundings. Forest lay on both sides of the gate, bisected by an eight-foot high chain-link fence. Grace noticed the razor concertina wire wound liberally along the top of the fence as well. “This would not be an easy place to escape from,” she thought.

The gates were opened and the deputy rolled through and followed a gently curving gravel path up to a group of buildings. The whole installation looked very military. Three flagpoles were in a roundabout in the center of the buildings, with the United States flag on the right, the Colorado state flag on the left, and what appeared, to Grace, to be a Christian flag in the center — elevated above the other two. Grace wondered about that. “Hmm. The US Flag is supposed to be in the center, as I recall.”

The car stopped and the deputy got out and opened her door. She exited the car and stood, looking around at the various buildings. The buildings were all simple wood-framed buildings, nothing special. She saw signs on most of them. “Men’s Quarters”, “Women’s Quarters”, “Men’s Latrine”, “Women’s Latrine”, “Mess Hall”, “Maintenance”.

The deputy took her arm and led her toward a building labeled “Administration”. Once inside they passed a woman at a desk, which Grace figured was the one she talked to that would tell her nothing. They passed several closed doors, most of which were unlabeled. The deputy stopped in front of one labeled ‘Prisoner Intake’, opened the door, and brought her inside.

~o~O~o~

Grace immediately and without the slightest hesitation decided she didn’t like James “Jimbo” Callahan at all. In fact, she felt scared of him from the moment he walked into the holding room. His round face had a slight reddish hue to it and his sparse thinning hair was in a military style buzz-cut. He was wearing a white short-sleeved shirt with a black tie and black dress pants. The shirt looked starched and didn’t show a single wrinkle or crease.

He looked down at her with a fierce expression on his face and held his hand out to the deputy, who put Grace’s purse into Jimbo’s hand.

“We don’t take kindly to fags running around our town, pretending to be women. So keep that in mind. A man could get himself hurt, trying to fool people into thinking he was a woman. We’re gonna get you right with God, fag. Now, what’s your name?”

“Grace Carson, as you can see on my driver’s license right there?” Grace bit the words out but she strived to be civil.

Jimbo snorted, “No matter, we’ll find out your right name soon enough. The Devil has you in darkness but once you see the light you will go back to your proper name my friend. My name is Jim Callahan. I am in charge of the prisoner intake around here. You’ll learn to jump when I say to jump, or you’ll be one sorry fag.”

He turned away from her. The deputy nodded at him and left, and soon she heard his patrol car head off.

“Now, for our contraband search…”

He unceremoniously turned the purse upside down over the small table and dumped all of her things out. He snorted right away. “Virginia Slims? Of course. You effeminate fags love these girly cigarettes don’t you? Well, we have a rule here: no tobacco whatsoever. Cigarettes are often the wedge Satan uses to slide right on into your life. So, say goodbye to your faggy smokes, buddy.”

Grace would have happily slit the man’s throat for the chance to light up one of those ‘faggy’ smokes but instead had to watch as he crushed the unopened pack and dropped it into a metal wastebasket beside the table. Her black leather cigarette case followed it, along with her spare lighter.

“Now, let’s see here. Lipstick, makeup, my oh my, you really are on the express lane to Hell aren’t you?” All of her makeup followed the cigarettes into the garbage can. Following that was her hairbrush, and even her pens and tissue.

He paused, glanced at Grace with a flat expression, and pulled out her hormones and blockers. He brandished the bottles at her and shook his head sadly back and forth. “I am not going to throw these evil pills away, my friend. You are going to, one day real soon now, while begging Jesus to forgive you for your filthy perversions. Not likely He will, mind you. But, we do try.”

Grace knew the only begging that she planned to do was to her lawyer (once she found a hungry enough one) to sue these idiots for every penny they had or would earn for the next decade.

Her beautiful Coach purse followed everything else into the garbage. All that was left on the table was her wallet and the two medicine bottles. He opened the wallet and extracted everything from it then tossed the wallet into the can as well.

“Now, fairy, it’s time to meet the Reverend. He will get you sorted out with God before you even know it!”

~o~O~o~

Grace had expected a big man, likely overweight and sweaty with a fanatical light in his eyes. The Reverend Jonathan Hayes was tall, but only slightly overweight. He did indeed have a fanatical look and his eyes seemed to see things in the distance that nobody else could see. The overall feeling that she had upon seeing him was revulsion. He could have done well as a slick car salesman or politician.

“Well now, another young man in Satan’s clutches I see!” he boomed at Grace as he walked over to her. She noticed that he was well over six feet tall and loomed over her. “I’m Jonathan Hayes, and I run this camp. You’re here on a work-release program we have set up with the Sheriff. If you can behave, learn what we teach you and show progress you will leave here a happy and healthy man.”

Grace decided to try for calm reason, first. “Look, this is all a big mistake. I came here to find my friend, and that is the only reason I am here. I broke no laws, which is more than I can say for you! I was brought here on phony drug charges! You have no right to take my things and treat me like this. When I get out of here-“

SMACK! Jimbo stepped close and casually backhanded her across the mouth with a severe look on his face. “Young man, the first thing you need to learn here is respect.”

The Reverend Hayes did not even seem to notice anything had happened. “Now, young man, what is your name?” he said.

Grace replied “My name is Grace Carson.”

This earned her another smack from Jimbo. “Lying is not tolerated here, fag. The Reverend asked your real name, not your fake fag name! Now what is it?”

Grace wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth and raised her voice slightly in frustration, “My legal name is Grace Carson, as you can see on my Driver’s Lic-“ SMACK! SMACK! Jimbo hit her twice more.

Hayes became incensed. “How dare you profane a beautiful woman’s name like ‘Grace’ by taking it unto yourself, boy. I know you are demonically controlled but that is no excuse and God sure won’t see it that way. You’re a man! God made you that way! It is complete and utter sick perversion to parade around in women’s clothes and call yourself a woman!”

Jimbo smacked her again. Reverend Hayes raised a hand, slightly, and Jimbo backed away. “It seems you are deep in Satan’s power, my friend. No matter, in time we will strip away the lies and the power of Jesus will reveal all. You will tell us your real name, friend. In good time.” Another guard came into the room and came over to stand beside Grace, with Jimbo moving to her other side.

Hayes nodded and they each took one of her arms. “Now, I need you to strip, young man.”

“I will do no such thing!”

Hayes gestured and the two men began tearing off her clothes as she struggled. She kneed one in the crotch and he groaned and pulled away. Jimbo let her go and opened the door and said “Got a feisty one in here!” and was handed a cattle prod! He said nothing but walked over, jabbed it into her side, and pulled the trigger on it.

Grace dropped to the floor screaming in agony as the high voltage ripped through her and she felt intense burning where the sharp contacts of the cattle prod jabbed into her skin. He held it in place and bore down on it while holding the trigger until Hayes raised his hand. He then pulled it away and the three men stood there watching her convulsions slowly ease off. The man she had kneed in the crotch was glaring at her.
Hayes spoke up “Now, young man, we will try this again. I hope that was a learning experience for you.”

He gestured at her and Jimbo and her glaring victim hauled her to her feet and began to rip her clothing away.

Both men were quite muscular and soon had her blouse, shoes, jeans, and even her bra ripped off. Once the bra was clear her perky C-cups stood out. Rather than ogling them as most men would, the three men looked disgusted.

“I had hoped you were wearing breast forms, but no, Satan has had you in his power for far too long. You’ve mutilated the male body that God gave you! And you are obviously possessed by more than one demon, young man. Don’t be afraid! We will help you regain your freedom! This I swear before God himself my friend!”

He gestured and Jimbo ripped off Grace’s panties, allowing a slightly atrophied penis and testes to appear. Reverend Hayes nodded in satisfaction at seeing this. “It’s good you haven’t mutilated your male parts, too. There is hope we can put you back on the right track.”

Jimbo was facing Grace and only she could see his face while Reverend Hayes was talking and she noticed that he grimaced when Hayes mentioned putting her back on the “right track”. Interesting, she thought.

A woman entered the room carrying a bundle of clothing, which she sat on the table, then turned and left without a word. Hayes gestured at the bundle. “These are your clothes, now. Go ahead and put them on. Cover your nakedness.”

Grace frowned as she went through the various items of clothing in the bundle. A pair of men’s boxer shorts, white, and starched. A men’s tee shirt, a white long-sleeved dress shirt (also starched). A pair of khaki pants, and a black tie.

As they’d taken the remains of her clothing away, she decided that, for now, she’d play along with this insanity. I don’t want any more of that cattle prod, no way!

She quickly slipped on the boxers, grimacing at how rough and stiff they felt. This was followed by the pants, the shirt, and then the sandals she found underneath it all. She held up the tie and looked at Hayes. “I have no idea how this thing works.”

Hayes rolled his eyes and Jimbo snickered. “You won’t need that right now. The tie is required for Sunday Services but throughout the week you won’t need it.”

Hayes looked her up and down and shook his head. “You make a poor man right now, my friend. But with God’s help I hope and prayer we can change that. Now, let me explain the rules, here in our little camp.”

He walked away from her then turned back and recited what sounded like a well-practiced routine.

“First and foremost there is to be NO physical or sexual contact between yourself and any other person here, unless and until you are instructed otherwise. If you are caught breaking that rule, the punishment is quite severe. You will not practice your fag perversions with other men here. We will not tolerate it! There are younger men and women here who are not inmates. They are here by their parents’ request to be cured of their inclinations to choose the fag lifestyle that has become so popular in these Last Days. If you are found to be encouraging those youngsters in perversions, or gainsaying our attempts to cure them the consequences will be severe.”

“Second, in every barracks there is a Guidebook with our rules. They are to be followed. We follow God’s commandments strictly, here. That means no stealing, no lying, no disrespecting your elders — that would be the staff, here. Needless to say there are no drugs, tobacco, alcohol or anything like that here nor is it tolerated. Your days of smoking, abusing drugs, and boozing are over.”

Grace felt it wouldn’t get her far to mention that she had never abused any drugs and rarely drank.
“Thirdly, you are a prisoner here serving your sentence. Attempting to escape can and will be met with deadly force, when required. You are an inmate, and keep that in mind if you get any notions to try to flee. Our camp guards are armed and do have the authority to shoot you if you are seen trying to escape.”

Lovely, she thought.

“You will live in one of the male barracks with the other men who are inmates. You will be expected to keep your area spotless at all times. Failure to do so means punishments.”

Of course it does, you sanctimonious prick.

“You will be expected to work in the garden. We grow most of our own food here. We also have livestock you will help take care of. You will also, at times, be on work details. Clearing brush, trees, putting up fencing, things like that.”

“The camp is about 500 acres and is entirely fenced in. You will be shown what areas you are allowed in and told about the ones you are not.”

“And last, but not least...” Hayes walked right up to her and looked down with what might have been sympathy. “You will be taught to be a Man again, my friend. We will try to pull you from Satan’s clutches and bring you into the Light of Christ. If you will just try to meet us halfway we can turn your life around.”

“Did you understand everything that I said, Mr. Carson?” Hayes said.

Grace simply nodded.

“Do you have any questions?”

Grace thought for a moment, carefully, and decided that these people were nuts and anything she asked or said would get her nothing but more abuse.

“No, sir, I don’t.”

Hayes smiled at her. “Sir, eh? I like to see some respect from our new inmates, and it’s nice to not have to teach them that right off, isn’t it Jimbo?”

Jimbo nodded. “Yes, Reverend, let’s just hope this one can be saved, as well.”

“Well then, Carson, there’s one last thing we need to take care of before we settle you in.” He turned to the door and tapped, and was handed a small metal case. He sat that on the table and opened it. Inside were scissors and a hair trimmer. Grace knew what was coming and her emotions went on overload. “NO, please, don’t cut my hair! Noooo!”

Jimbo and the guard held her while Hayes whacked her hair off to within a few inches of her scalp. He then took the trimmer and plugged it in, and shaved her head, leaving roughly an inch of hair. She now had a buzz-cut.

Grace sat sobbing and staring at the remains of her hair scattered in the floor below her. This is worse in some ways than that damn cattle-prod.

~o~O~o~

Jimbo grabbed Grace by the upper arm and led her out of the room, down the hallway, and outside. Once they were outside he stopped and looked at her. “I know what you’re thinking, faggot. You’re already plotting to try to escape. All I can say is, please, try! We haven’t got to shoot a fag in months!”

He led Grace to a small nondescript building with no label on it. Once inside she was pushed into the lone chair occupying the room and Jimbo began tying her to the chair very tightly. Each arm was bound to a chair arm, and her legs bound to the chair legs. She couldn’t move at all.

Within a few minutes five men and one woman walked into the room. Reverend Hayes was in the lead, carrying a Bible. They all knelt down in the floor around Grace’s chair. Grace would have found some amusement in all of this if not for the fact she was scared out of her wits and still in tears over the loss of her hair.
Reverend Hayes was right in front of her, beside him was Jimbo. All of them had their eyes tightly closed with sweat rolling down their faces. The room was very hot and there was no ventilation at all. They began praying, out loud.

The strangest part to her was that all of them were praying as if they were alone. In her still half-conscious state all the words seemed to run together into a buzz. But the same phrases kept cropping up from each and every one of them. The Reverend seemed to be reading a Bible story in the midst of all the prayers.

“Dear Lord… save this poor man from Satan’s demons!” “The power of Jesus compels you!” “…he lived among the tombs…” “flee the power of Jesus you foul demons” “…and no one could bind him any more, not even with a chain…” “You cannot stand against the power of Christ Himself!” “…and when Jesus saw from afar, he ran and FELL DOWN BEFORE HIM! (AMEN!)” “Amen!” “Amen brother!” “…and crying out with a loud voice, he said ‘What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?...” “ohh preach it Brother Hayes, drive the unclean spirit out!”

Grace tried to tune it all out and experimentally wiggled in her chair, but she found the ropes around her were cruelly tight and she had absolutely no leeway to move in any direction.

Grace sighed and thought to herself “are they expecting my head to spin around and for me to vomit split-pea soup?”

After nearly two solid hours of ‘Prayer Power” directed at her, Grace was ready to say anything or do anything just to get them to shut up. She didn’t even have the luxury of dozing off during this madness — as every time she closed her eyes or let her head droop she got a jolt from a cattle prod Jimbo had brought into the room. Two of those were enough to make sure she looked alert and paid attention.

Grace decided to confess her sinful ways and try to convince them that her demons had fled in terror from their incredible Prayer Power. She opened her mouth but before the first word was out Reverend Hayes pointed at her and screamed “Be silent! You shall not speak or utter your blasphemies until we have completed our prayer meeting!”

She closed her mouth and endured.

After what seemed hours of prayer, chanting, and exhortations for demons to flee Grace’s body, one of the women in the group took a Sharpie marker out of a drawer. She uncapped it and walked around to Grace’s right side while one of the guards grabbed Grace’s fingers and held them tight. This had the effect, combined with the bonds around the arm of the chair, of making her unable to move her hand even slightly. The woman slowly and carefully inscribed the numbers 6 6 6 on the back of Grace’s right hand with the Sharpie.

Hayes helpfully explained that “We cannot get the demonic force out of you at the moment, so you are marked as one of Satan’s own, you see. That identifies you to all as a source of evil, not to be trusted, and not to be let out of camp alone.”

Grace sighed and stared at her new semi-permanent tattoo as they untied her from the chair.

Grace neither responded nor offered any resistance as she was led outside the Administration building and towards the building marked ‘Men’s Barracks’. They entered and to Grace it looked like what she thought an Army barracks would look like. A row of beds down each side flanking an open aisle, and a door on the other end labeled ‘Barracks Supervisor’.

They marched down the aisle, and Grace found herself being examined as they walked by each cot. She noticed some of the men were already sleeping, but a few were awake. She spotted Maddy right off and almost gasped.
Maddy grinned at her and held out her hand, palm down, displaying her own ‘6 6 6’ logo. Grace laughed and held her own out. Maddy said “Welcome, Sister of Evil!”

The guard frowned and said “In bed with you or you’ll earn a Demerit. You know it is quiet time! Either read your Bible or sleep! You know the rules!”

Maddy winked at Grace and mouthed “talk later”, then lay down on her cot. Grace was led all the way to the end where an empty cot awaited.

“This is your sleep area. You know to keep it clean and neat?” the guard said. Grace nodded.

“Good. You’ll not like it if you don’t. This is your nightstand. Your Bible is in this drawer.” He opened the drawer and pointed to a Bible.

“I suggest you read it often, you really do need it. Oh and it is after nine PM and that means no talking, no anything but sleeping or reading. There’s a Guidebook here, too. ‘Lights Out’ at ten PM sharp.” He handed a slim manual to Grace. “You need to read that. Good night and God Bless.” He left.

Grace looked around the room and was debating going to visit Maddy’s cot when she spotted the first camera up in the trusses of the room. The barracks was very Spartan construction and as such there was no ceiling, just wooden trusses and the lighting fixtures stretched across them, each with 2 fluorescent bulbs. She spotted one camera right off, then upon closer examination found that there were eight cameras total.

Sheesh these people are a paranoid and controlling bunch. I guess I’ll have to wait and visit Maddy later on.

She thumbed through the Guidebook, noticing the list of rules went on for endless pages. I am totally not in the mood for more of their propaganda right now — I’ll read it later.

She slipped off her pants and shirt and crawled into her cot, covered up, and was soon asleep.

~o~O~o~

Grace awoke to the sound of reveille coming from several speakers around the barracks. She heard several groans but saw people stirring to life. There was no clock visible anywhere but the guidebook had stated that six AM was wake-up time. As she sat up and looked around she noticed fresh folded clothes on her nightstand. She also noticed a smiling man staring at her from near the foot of her bed.

When her eyes met his he gave a big grin and walked over to her. “Hi, Mr. Carson! My name is Pete and I will be your Mentor!” He offered his hand and when Grace shook with him he squeezed her hand almost painfully and shook her hand up and down with enthusiasm. His thousand watt smile dimmed a moment when he took in her unbound breasts but it returned quickly.

“So, what’s your first name, my new brother in Christ-to-be? I can’t keep calling you Mr. Carson!” He grinned in a friendly fashion and actually winked.

“It’s Grace. Grace Carson,” she replied.

Pete’s smile went away as if turned off by a switch. “Err, no, we don’t do that here, Carson. I guess we will just have to use your last name for now.” He shook his head, then brightened up once more.

“Do you like our little home here, Carson? I know you didn’t exactly volunteer to join us, but if you’ll just let Jesus into your heart I think you’ll find this place is actually wonderful!”

Grace immediately wanted to strangle this overly cheerful wretch who seemed to want to hover all over her. “Oh, it’s just a wonderful place, Pete. How could anyone not love it?” She gave a big phony smile showing her teeth.

Apparently good old Pete had at least some sense and backed away out of her personal space and back to the foot of the cot.

He rubbed his hands together and the cheer erupted like the sun from behind the clouds once more. “Now, Carson, I am here to be your helper! I will help you in any way that I can and make your life better. You can count on your Mentor to get you all set up here and on the right track!”

“Can you get me out of this camp?”

“Err, no.”

“Can you get me a phone?”

“Umm, no. Inmates aren’t allowed ph-”

“Internet access?”

“Oh, no! The internet is Satan’s Playground.”

“Ah, yes. Of course it is, my bad. How about a cigarette?”

“Good Lord, no! Those foul things? How can you poison yourself with-”

“How about some coffee?”

“We don’t pollute our bodies with caffeine, either!”

Grace cocked an eye at Pete and said “So far you’re not making my life a whole lot better, there, Petey.”

“It’s Pete, not Petey, Carson.”

“Whatever. Ok how about breakfast?”

The big smile returned. “Now that I can help you with! If you want to get dressed I’ll take you over for Morning Mess and Blessings.”

“Oh, great. I love me some Morning Blessings! Let me get ready.”

Grace dressed in the freshly laundered (and heavily starched) shirt, then pants and slipped on her sandals and off they went. The rest of the inmates had filtered out the door while she and her New Best Friend had been chatting.

As they walked she gave Pete a good examination. He was around her age, probably younger. There was no writing on his hands, not that she expected to see any. His hair was cut in the same crew-cut that every man here sported. He didn’t seem to ‘get’ her sarcasm in the slightest. Usually in her experience that meant lower intelligence.

The Mess Hall was a short walk across the compound. She spotted the first female inmates on their walk to breakfast. Many of the inmates had the ever-popular ‘6 6 6’ inked on their right hands as hers was. She reflexively raised her own hand and looked at it.

Pete noticed and spoke up “It’s not permanent you know. If you will accept Christ and repent of your sins it can be erased — just as the stain of sin can be erased from your soul!”

Grace confined her response to an eye-roll.

~o~O~o~

As she was finishing her tasteless oatmeal and trying very hard not to barf, a guard walked in and whispered in Pete’s ear. All she heard from Pete was an “Oh, dear. Okay, we’ll get over there in just a few. Thank you!”

Grace raised an eyebrow at Pete and he muttered “You didn’t read your Guidebook, did you, Carson?”

She shook her head while swallowing the goop and trying not to think about it. “I read some of it.”

Pete sighed. “Carson, you are responsible for keeping your sleeping area neat and orderly — and you left a mess. We have to head back over there after you eat.”

Grace thought for just a split second and pushed her bowl of goo away and said “Let’s go, I’m… full.”

Pete frowned, then nodded and they left the Mess Hall. Whatever was making him frown would have to wait.

They walked into the barracks and ran into a glowering woman near Grace’s cot. Pete stepped between them and smiled. “Carson this is Mrs. Watson. She’s your Barracks Warden! Mrs. Watson this is Carson.”

The woman, about forty, Grace thought, was in a pale blue dress with her hair tied in a tight bun. She had lots of frown wrinkles and an expression that seemed as if she had been eating lemons.

“Well. Mister Carson! Were you not warned about keeping your sleeping area clean young man?” She pointed to Grace’s discarded clothing at the foot of the cot. “We do not leave our clothing lying around. You are not a child. And we make our bed before we leave for the day. You have earned yourself one demerit, young man!”

After her speech she whipped out a black notebook and flipped pages till she presumably came to Grace’s page and dramatically wrote in the book.

Grace frowned and looked around, noticing that every other cot in the building but hers was neatly made up and looked quite orderly. She decided that she’d better read that stupid Guidebook to avoid any further problems.

She was about to settle in to reading it when she noticed a man looking at her, standing beside the next cot over.

The man was a gay man named Jay Benson. He smiled at Grace and asked her name. When she told him, it was refreshing to see none of the facial expressions that most of the whack-jobs around this town exhibited.

“Well, Grace, I would say that it is nice to meet you… hah, well it is nice to meet you, but I think we’d both agree that the circumstances could be so much better! I would offer to shake hands but physical contact is against the rules, you know.”

“No, I don’t know, but I do need to read this book and find out I suppose,” she replied.

He nodded and said “Yes I’d recommend that. There are a lot of rules here and it is way too easy to earn demerits. So, do read that thoroughly, Grace. We’ll talk later I am sure!” He smiled at her and went off.

Nobody came to bark any orders at her so she began to read the Guidebook. Jay wasn’t kidding at all; the rules went on for pages and pages. She wasn’t allowed to touch anyone without permission. She wasn’t allowed to ‘blaspheme’ or to ‘take the name of the Lord in vain’ or have sex or touch herself in her ‘private places.’

She would be attending weekly classes on how perverted her life was and how evil people who were LGBT were.

The Guidebook explained in gory detail the eternal punishments awaiting them all in Hell. There would be classes to explain how homosexuality was invented by Satan to damn mankind.

Grace snorted often reading the book and did a lot of eye-rolling.

One thing that didn’t make her laugh was the paragraph on demerits:

‘When an Inmate reaches 5 Demerits, that Inmate shall receive a public caning. Each Demerit will equal one lash of the cane. Inmates are strongly advised to obey the rules and the staff to avoid such outcomes. All Inmates shall attend the weekly canings on Monday evenings. Upon reaching 10 demerits, inmates will be whipped.'

Grace was shocked and, not for the first time, scared. Wow, and I already have one Demerit for not being neat and tidy, from that old bag. Great.

She also learned that she had to obey her Mentor in all things. She had to shower at specific times and do chores at specific times. Every single rule had warnings about Demerits if she broke one of them. Failure to do an ‘adequate’ level of work led to Demerits. ‘Laziness’ led to Demerits.

Showing ‘disrespect to any staff member or fellow inmate’ equaled Demerits as well.

Grace threw the book to the side, irritated. This isn’t a work camp, this is fucking Auschwitz! All we need is a sign on the gate that says ‘Arbeit Macht Frei’!

Her least favorite staff member chose that moment to appear. “Well, why are you lazing about in bed, Carson?” Mrs. Watson exclaimed. “We do not tolerate laziness and sloth here. You just earned another demerit, young man.” She whipped out her book and noted it.

Grace sighed. “Look, nobody told me that I need to be anywhere or do anything! There’s no need to be a bitch about this. Tell me where I am supposed to be then!”

That earned her another demerit for calling Mrs. Watson a bitch.

Great, I have three now. I foresee a caning in my immediate future.

Mrs. Watson shook her head at her newest charge. “I can tell you are going to be trouble, young man. If you’d bothered to come ask me I would have told you where you needed to be.”

Grace bit back her sarcasm and nearly choked on it. She then said “Mrs. Watson, where should I be right now?”

Mrs. Watson smirked. “Now you ask. It’s Friday, so you should be helping in the laundry. There’s a schedule on the board down there by the door. I’d suggest you read it, Carson.” She sniffed, and stalked off towards her office.

Grace put her fresh uniform on and made her cot up so that it was as neat as the other cots, then took yesterday’s dirty clothing to the hamper near Watson’s office. She dropped them in; then headed down to the board to see what her schedule looked like. She saw this:

• CARSON -
• Sunday    Monday    Tuesday    Wednesday    Thursday    Friday    Saturday
• Services     Class       Garden      Maintenance    Class       Laundry       Garden
• Bible Study   Laundry    Kitchen    Maintenance    Kitchen    Laundry    Garden
• Services    Discipline    Laundry    Bible Study    Maintenance    Laundry    Garden

There were not any time frames listed but Grace figured out each of the three blocks was probably roughly five hours — which later turned out to be the case. Grace thought Sunday looked like a day that she’d not enjoy.

It looks like today is Laundry Day all day for me! She wandered outside to find where the laundry was done.

Approaching a guard or another inmate seemed to be the best strategy to find the laundry area so she quickly found a guard and was curtly directed to a building behind the Mess Hall. Inside, she found sweating male and female inmates washing, drying, ironing, starching, and folding clothing.

A balding man in the inevitable white shirt and tie, holding a clipboard, walked over to her, and looked her up and down. He then looked at his clipboard and said “Carson?”

Grace nodded.

“I’m Ray. I’m in charge here. And you’re late, Carson. You were supposed to be here almost an hour ago. You just earned yourself a demerit. Now, get over there and start loading and unloading the washers.” He, too, seemed to have eaten lemons for breakfast, much like her favorite Barracks Warden.

Grace paled, and then ran over to the washers. Ugh, four now. One more and I get to experience caning.

It didn’t take long to learn that Laundry Day would not be a fun day for Grace. The work was hot, demanding, and there were no rest breaks. They were allowed a two minute water break in the middle of their shift. No talking was allowed. Grace found this rule out when she started to make small talk with a fellow inmate.

“Carson! There’s no talking and fraternizing here. You are here to work, not socialize! That’s another demerit for you!”

Grace bit her lip to keep from blowing up at this asshole martinet and went back to work without saying a word.

Rivers of sweat ran down Grace’s back. She had to heave huge bags of laundry from a cart, unload the bag into an industrial washing machine, put a cup of powder in and start it up. Once that was done, the next bag was to be loaded. Once the cart was empty it had to be moved over to the drying area.

Lunch couldn’t come soon enough, and when Ray blew a whistle and called out “Lunch!” she was ecstatic. As she headed to the door, Ray called out to her. “I’ll see you back here in exactly thirty minutes, Carson, or you get two more demerits. Clear?”

Grace, always a fast learner, replied “Yes, sir,” and fled for the Mess Hall.

She entered the Mess Hall, hoping against hope that Lunch would be tastier than the unappetizing goo she’d been served for breakfast. She got in line with the others and grabbed a plastic tray and a plate, and a plastic fork and spoon. I guess nobody will be making shanks in this particular prison!

The food was better than high school cafeteria food. The vegetables were all fresh. The meat was a piece of bologna. There was one slice of bread, only. She cleaned her plate and ran back to the Laundry, fearful she’d be late. She entered and found herself alone with Ray.

“Well, that was quick! You weren’t hungry, Carson?” he said.

“I already ate, sir. I just hurried back because I didn’t know how much time I had.”

He laughed at her and pointed to a clock on the wall above the dryers. “Not too bright are you, Carson? You had fifteen minutes left. You can go ahead and get back to work.”

By the end of the day, Grace was too exhausted to do anything but fall in her cot and was asleep within a minute.

~o~O~o~

The next morning Pete appeared shortly after she was awakened. He was all smiles, as usual. “Good morning, Carson! How are we today?”

Grace groaned. “We are sore. We are tired. We worked all day in that stinking hellhole that you people call a Laundry.”

Pete frowned. “Carson, you really need to be careful of saying things like that. Otherwise you could end up-“

“It’s much too late to warn him. That’s another demerit, Carson. For speaking ill of our camp.” She gleefully marked down another in her little book, and then grinned at Grace. “Well, look at this. That makes six demerits for you. You have an appointment with the cane, come Monday!”

She walked back to her office, looking quite cheerful.

“What a sadistic bitch she is,” said Grace.

Pete jumped as if someone had stuck a needle in his butt. “Carson! Watch what you say! You’re already up for six licks, you don’t want more!”

Grace nodded, too tired to argue about it.

“Come on now, let’s go to breakfast. After that, I’ll take you to the garden and get you started on your day!”

Grace marched off with Pete to another unappetizing breakfast. She didn’t want to finish her food.

“Well, Carson, I know it’s not that great but we can’t be wasting food the Lord has provided. If you don’t eat, you get —“

“Oh wait! I got this one. I get demerits! Right?!” Grace yelled.

Pete shrunk back but nodded. “Of course.”

“Wow, imagine that. More demerits! A lucky guess on my part, huh?”

Pete shook his head and went back to finishing his own meal.

~o~O~o~

The garden was actually pretty. Grace was a city girl but the vast area that the camp used for a garden was mostly all planted and growing in the May sunshine. She liked what she saw.

Pete brought Grace over to a small building where a man sat. He was older than anyone she has seen here, yet. He wore a straw hat and overalls. His name was Fred Butler, and she was later to learn that he was 79 years old.

“Carson. Have you ever worked in a garden before? Or grown vegetables?” His expression looked as if he doubted Grace even knew what a vegetable was.

“No, sir. I’ve never done either.”

Butler snorted and shook his head, then nodded at Pete, who gave them both a cheerful wave and headed away.

“Come with me then, young... man. Let’s get you started.”

He handed her an implement she recognized as a hoe, and then led her on a short walk to one area in the vast cultivated fields. He pointed at rows of plants that were about a foot high. “These here are tomato plants, Carson. Make sure you recognize them. Got that?”

“Yes, sir, I can identify them now,” Grace replied.

“Good man! Now, all you need to do is go down each row here. Use your hoe to chop away anything that isn’t a tomato plant. Like this.” To demonstrate, he used his own hoe to cut away some small weeds growing here and there around the plant in front of him.

“Now, once you’ve got your weeds under control, use the hoe to chop up the ground like I am doing and pull the loose dirt around the plant a little, like this.”

Grace watched and grasped the basics and nodded.

“I’ll leave you to it. There’s water here whenever you need a drink. Just come get it, don’t worry about permission or anything. Bathroom around the side, there. I’ll call for you when it’s lunchtime.”

Grace nodded and went to work. That old man is the nicest one in the entire nuthouse, so far. He still probably thinks I am some kind of freak but at least he was nice enough not to say it.

She found that she didn’t mind the work at all. It got her away from the crazies, and let her just enjoy the peace and quiet and the outdoors. Nobody came near her or bothered her so she just focused on her work and tried to not think too much about canings or demerits.

After a full day of gardening, she sat in her cot, reflecting on things before she went to sleep. Grace decided that Saturdays would probably be her favorite day if the schedule stayed as it was. She actually learned some things, and the work was not too bad, at least not compared to the laundry.

She fell asleep before they turned out the lights, hoping tomorrow’s “Day of Rest” would actually mean some real rest.