Bad Luck

Five men were sitting in a dank little cell far below ground, each set of wrists and ankles shackled to the carved rock wall behind them. On the far right was Owen, a stout man with a beer belly and short, spikey hair and wide, nervous eyes. Beside him was Jack, tall and slender with shoulder-length blond hair that, as of the last three hours of imprisonment, was unkept. He glared at the happy man beside him, Francis, a short chatterbox, dark hair and eyes, heavily tanned, who seemed impossibly pessimistic. On Francis’ right was Sam, heavily built and slightly taller than Francis, with a military-styled haircut and demeanour, silent and at the ready, as if waiting for instructions. Next to Sam, on the far left is James, an angry redhead, tallest of the lot with a short messy scruff. He kept scowling at the other men in the cell, as well as the wall behind him where the others all knew the Special Prisoner sat, the one that had turned them all in.

“You know,” said Francis, “I believe I have managed to hold out despite my bad luck.” He grinned at the other men, all of whom rolled their eyes or ignored him. “Yep! You see, I was happily married living in Iowa—that’s in America—”

“We know where Iowa is.” Jack snapped. Francis shrugged with a fake apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry, some may not, you never know. Anyway, there I was, happily married, then this little fuck Jordan, from across the road, called the cops saying I abused my wife, which I didn’t! Some fucked up reason, Terry—Terry’s my wife—she agreed with him. Cops sent my ass straight to prison, having been given all this fake evidence. So hauled my ass to a high security prison, met a couple of inmates planning to break out—falsely accused men, they were too, good ol’ Max and Fenner, and—”

“No one gives a shit, Francis, shut up!”

“—and I offered my help. I’m quite handy with wires and shit, y’know? So we all broke out, went on the run, and ended up in New York. Funny story, Fenner got so drunk while we were hiding in the big apple he got hitched, the marriage papers were found by police, and Fenner got turned in with a bigger sentence and two angry wives—what’d he say their names were? Deborah and Selena, I think. Pretty gal, Selena, the one he married in NY. So then it was just me and Max running for our lives, Max getting caught out by his cousin when we hit Boston, we were running in circles, see? Then I got kidnapped at Boston harbour. Dragged my screeching ass down here, where I met that one named…Chaos, or something equally dramatic. What do you think her real name is? Anyway, she tells me she doesn’t like abusers, and I explained my story, and she got all angry, muttered something, and threw me in here! I imagine I’m handling my shitty luck well, though!” Francis stopped chatting to see if any of the other men disagreed.

“You call that bad luck?” Owen sniggered, his strong British accent contrasting with Francis’ lilting American one. “I was married at a young age, and you know young guys, always wanting more. I cheated on her several times, once with her sister. When Maddy found out, she was angry, furious. Bitch could have made the Hulk look cuddly. She filed for a divorce, that happened, she took my house, my kids, my car, and dumped me with nothing. I went into bankruptcy quickly. The business I was working for got shut down. I was in a bad place. Tried to kill myself and failed. I was on cheap drugs, OD’d several times. In hospital I was always cared for by this nurse, Linda. Fell in love. She seemed too as well. When I was well again that last time, we got together. She helped me get a job, working at a cheese factory, ended up earning good money. Linda though, I found, was cheating on me, and suddenly I knew what Maddy felt. I got so mad, I choked her out. Killed her. Ran from the cops when they got there, lived in the forest for a while. Found my way to Haworth, in England, and stayed there for a while. Fattened up. Then this black van turned up and dragged me out of my house, handcuffed me, and brought me here. One of the guards punched me, broke a few ribs, so I was in their medical wing when the rest of you got here. Except you, James.” Owen looked at James oddly. James said nothing.

“If we’re telling stories, here’s mine.” Sam began. “I was born in London, raised in London. Almost died in London. I was part of a gang, and not one of those little ones you see on the telly. A big one, my father was one of the leaders. I lived a life of crime, got shanked several times, but never too badly. Anyway, my Dad had me as a lookout for a jewellery shop theft, and I was on my phone. I missed the police, and Dad and the gang got caught. They were all taken to prison, and I had to leave London so the rest of the gang would kill me. I ended up in Cardiff, working on a craypot boat, and one day, the boat hit a reef, and I went overboard. Almost drowned. Swam to the nearest island where I was left stranded for several weeks. Then, this pilot training helicopter came past and spotted me. The pro pilot took over, and they dropped a ladder for me, I got on up in there and told them all about the sinking boat and swimming to shore and that. I told them my name was Robert Willowman. Found out it was a bunch of Scots flying. They said that unfortunately they couldn’t drop me back to Cardiff, they were running late and had to get back to Glasgow. So I just shrugged and said, ‘cool, yeah, let’s go.’ Went to Glasgow, where the two Scots that picked me up, Jared and Chook—his name was Darren, but we called him Chook—taught me to fly and helped me get a job as a Glasgow pilot. Met a girl while I was there, and asked her to marry me. Then, before the wedding, the gang showed up looking for vengeance. Killed Mary and Chook, and chased Darren and I over the ocean, us in that same helicopter the boys picked me up in, and the gang in a fleet of fast little boats. Probably stolen. They chased us for a while, police came and chased us too. We crashed on this here island, which was both lucky and unlucky. Darren died in the crash and these folks were angry because I led an angry gang and police force right to the island. They killed the entire gang and force, and threw me down here. So I think I’m coping better than you, American.”

“Bite me.” Francis snapped, but grinned anyway. Clearly he enjoyed the crime story.

“None of you have suffered.” Jack’s angry Korean accent cut in. “I was born in Korea, in a concentration camp. My parents throats were slit because of my existence. I was put to work immediately, heavy work. I am disfigured because of that work. I was tortured. I tried to escape with my friend Mao, but he got electrocuted on the fence and I was whipped in punishment. I was ten. The older I got, the worse I got treated. I overheard information on a coup, and told the guards, who had all the people involved killed. I was held over a fire and my back burnt as punishment for talking. American army came and freed us, shooting the guards and destroying the camp. We were all taken to America. Some others became famous for their stories, but they all hated me for what I had done. I ran from them, hoping to go to China, where my uncle had told me I have family, who had run from Korea after Kim Jung Un became leader. I was almost drowned when the immigrant boats were sunk. I was rescued, and taken to court with others also rescued, and demanded why I tried to sneak my way to China. I told the truth. They didn’t believe me, and had me banished. I went back to America. A black van came to my hotel, where I stayed, and took me here. Chaos told me she felt empathy for my story. She wanted me to work for her, to help her stop the Korean camps and prevent war. She wanted to take over world. I spit in her face, she is just another Kim Jung Un.”

There was silence for a minute after Jack had spoken, broken, of course, by Francis.

“So, if you’re Korean, why is your name Jack?”

“Alias. My real name is Shin La Kan.” Jack explained. “I changed it to hide from Korean guards.”

“That’s terrible.” Francis said. “I no longer think I’m coping well at all. How can I? I’ve nothing to cope with at all.” He stared a while longer at Jack, who shifted and ran a hand through his long hair.

‘What about you, James? What’s your story?” Sam asked, looking curiously at the silent fuming man.

“None of your business.” He growled.

“Come on, Jimmy-James. Tell us!” Francis pleaded. James scowled at him.

“He was born here, on this island.” A voice echoed through. All five men looked up to see Chaos staring at them. “Charming as it is to see Jimmy-James have some friends, I doubt he’s willing to tell you his story.”

“I was born here.” James said, giving the witch an angry look, allowing them all to hear his heavy Australian accent. “Raised here as a mercenary. Went through training and was beaten if I failed in anything.”

“Which he did, often. He was whipped for shooting off bullseye, flogged for holding a knife wrong, had his hands burned for being beaten in a fight. It was tough stuff for a kid.” Chaos interrupted, smirking at the scowling redhead.

“I trained alongside you.” James snarled at her, before turning his head back to the surprised men. “Eventually I got sick of the beatings and began training hard, becoming top of my class. I became out leaders head soldier. I held tortures, where I flayed people, ripped of fingernails, forced snakes down people throats, made rats eat through stomachs. I held proper executions, the electrocution chair, dismembering, disembowelling, beheading, burning, hanging, euthanasia, bow and arrow, running people through. I organised man-hunts, some where we hunted around the world and sent out Black Vans, and others where we set loose prisoners on the island, than had them chased with hounds and mauled to death. But I stopped.”

“Because you were weak!” Chaos sneered.

“Because she was a child! Three years old, and they wanted me to gut her. I couldn’t. I was beaten for it and almost lost my job. But I didn’t and she survived. I snuck her out. I helped other children escape, and was whipped. I helped a mother birth her baby and take it to safety, and lost a few fingers. I helped a man protect his infant son and had my other hand held in boiling water. I stopped a guard from torturing an innocent old man and was sentenced to execution. I did it because suddenly, once again, I cared. I cared for their lives and wellbeing.”

“No one else gave a fuck.” Chaos sniffed.

“Well, I gave a fuck. And for every time I gave a fuck, that fuck, fucked me over.”

Chaos sniggered. “Well,” she said, “it’s time for that execution of yours.” She turned to the others. “You will all be joining him.” Unlocking the cell door, she led them out of the prison and up into a large stone structure above ground. Out of a huge doorway, and into a courtyard, where she made them all kneel, surrounded by guards. She raised her harms in front of her.

“These men have all been ordered for execution. They have done wrong, and will be punished for it!” She called to the crowd, before miming a swiping motion with her hand, and the guards behind the men all drew their knives and slit their throats.