BAWA'S LAW

The raging fire lit up the dark night sky of the desert majestically when seen from a safe distance, giving beauty to the eye in a way that effectively contrasted the horrors within its feral jaws. The Fort James Prison, located in the heart of the desert, was in flames. The ferocious inferno was fiercest around its northern wing, but gradually licking its way across the other sections too. Thick acrid smoke filled the interior of the prison. The tortured cries of men in various states of pain filled the night air above the whispering swoosh of the flames as prisoners engaged in a fierce battle with the prison officers. Shots rang out as prisoners and prison officials clashed in a mad cacophony of sound. And, way above the inferno and the rabid explosion of man against man, the stars shone serenely in the sky, and the moon almost had a sardonic cast to its glow as the elements witnessed the most savage of clashes below. The officers fired relentlessly into the body of prisoners. But the prisoners were many, and they were being driven by the unquenchable thirst for revenge fuelled by hatred for the officers.  They pressed on with wooden stakes and cudgels in their hands, forcing the prison officers into a sudden mad rush for the main entrance. Some of the prisoners were, however, running toward the stables to get horses and escape the burning prison. The huge main gates of the prison suddenly crashed open, and within the depths of the suffocating smoke that billowed out came men on horses and men running from the chaos inside. The frantic horses neighed and ploughed furiously in all directions. The prisoners, running from the fire, and the constricting confines of captivity, also spread out in all directions into the exhilarating air of freedom.  However, as severe as the fire was, and as dreadful as the battle was, two men inside that prison were not running. They were staring each other down! One of them, stout and barrel-chested with a gigantic growth of moustache on a swarthy face, was not running because there was nowhere else to run. He was in the white uniform of a prison commander. Somewhere in the mad melee, he had lost his glorious cap. His uniform was not as crisp as it had been when he proudly stepped into it earlier that morning, and neither was it as clean. The fire was blazing uncomfortably nearer to their position, and the smoke was already filtering into the room, giving off an unpleasant pungent odour.  The man’s eyes were wide and wild as those of a trapped serpent. He licked his dry lips as the sweat rolled off his face, cutting through dirt, grime and soot and colouring his collar a dirty brown. The room had been an office once, a very resplendent office. Now, however, it was in shambles. The desk had been overturned, the drawers pulled out and scattered across the floor. Papers were littering the floor. The chairs were upturned and some broken. The deep sofas had been slashed open with cruel knives. The framed pictures on the wall had been torn off the walls and smashed, littering the ground with a dangerous sea of broken glass. The swarthy man was breathing erratically, his massive chest rising and falling as he fought for oxygen and, to a greater extent, calm, as his fear began to escalate into the realms of terror.  On the floor to one side where the prison commander was standing was a small table. Tied across the table was a little girl barely out of her teens. Her arms were lashed cruelly under the table, and there was a gag in her mouth. Across her naked back were ugly welts from a belt where she had been lashed by the prison commander. Her legs were spread, and there were cruel welts on her buttocks, and traces of blood down her inner thighs. It was evident that the commander had raped this poor girl repeatedly, cruelly beating and pinching her buttocks in the process. He was a sadist who derived his s****l pleasures by raping little girls, mostly virgins, and torturing them in the process. This young girl, who would be no older than thirteen or fourteen, was shivering badly, and her face was bruised and badly swollen from the slaps and punches the commander had given her. There were blood marks on the gag in her mouth, and she was barely conscious. There was another man in the room.  He was standing just inside the door. This man was huge...a giant of a man. He was wearing only a pair of khaki cut-offs, judging by their jagged edges. His feet were bare. He was a fine specimen of a man. His body was well-toned and hard, and his shoulders were broad and sinewy, his pectorals finely-developed. His tummy muscles were firmed and flat, severally ripped, whilst his shoulders tapered down to a hard strong waist and well-formed legs. He had long eyelashes and thick brows for a man, his nose finely-chiselled, leading to almost feminine full lips. An ugly scar across his right cheek, however, marred his handsome features. It hinted of a time when that cheek had obviously been laid open to the bone and had had a mighty rough time healing. Rather than detracting from the allure of his looks, the scar lent his face a savage kind of beauty that fitted well with his general aura of strength. Fine hair covered his chest and tummy, and on his face was a thick growth of beard and moustache. He was tall, huge, proud and foreboding, his black eyes were closed to almost slits as he looked across the room at the commander. When he shifted his gaze to the brutally-raped girl on the table, a look of sheer wrath ripped across his handsome face. The cornered prison commander suddenly spat on the floor, barring his huge teeth in a snarl-like gesture.  “I’m an officer of the law!” he grated out spitefully in an attempt to mask his putrid fear. “Touch me, and your life would even be harder than the ten years you’ve spent with me here in this prison, Chris Bawa!” The huge man by the door slowly advanced, his face almost expressionless, but his jawline worked hard. There was no mercy on his face, absolutely no compassion. The commander’s eyes fell on a sliver of glass lying on the floor near his foot. He bent down swiftly and picked up a dirty napkin and wrapped it around his hand as he picked up the long, ugly glass. He straightened up quickly and pointed the wicked-looking glass at Chris Bawa.  “I’m gonna kill you, Chris, I swear to God I will!” the Commander said nastily and crouched into a fighting stance. “I’m going to spill your intestines out here on the floor and watch you die slowly you damn pig!” Chris paused momentarily as the young girl moaned weakly, and a great spasm ripped through her body. He looked at the girl, and pity flashed across his bleak face momentarily. For an innocent girl to be treated this way, by such an animal, really fired up Chris Bawa’s heart. He continued to walk toward the yelling Commander who suddenly uttered a choked cry of horror, swinging up the glass fragment, aiming for Chris' throat. Chris shifted his feet slightly, and the wicked tip of the shard of glass whisked harmlessly inches from his throat. He unleashed a savage right blow from his hip, straight into the left rib-cage of the Commander.  It was a savage blow that broke some ribs of the Commander. His swarthy face was screwed up with agony as he was hurled back against the wall behind him. The glass shard dropped from his hand as he clutched at his ribs in a vain attempt to stop the excruciating pain suffusing his whole body. The Commander never saw the hard edge of Chris’ left hand homing in. Chris, incensed beyond control, delivered a crushing strike into the commander’s throat. The Commander didn’t see the blow, but he felt the sharp pain that jarred through his entire frame.  The savagery and brutality of Chris’ strike crushed the commander’s trachea instantly, blocking the passage of air. The man grabbed at his throat with both hands, his eyes desperate and finally showing his acute terror. He made choking sounds as his body fought for air and his tortured brain screamed for release. His eyes begged for mercy, for peace, for release. He dropped to his knees first, wheezing and gasping for air, and then his body fell forward slowly. The huge man called Chris Bawa stepped back, allowing the other man to crash heavily down. The Commander rolled first on his side, and then on his back. His body jerked spasmodically in the final throes of death, and then he went still, his eyes fixed in a stare of horror and pain.  There was still no expression on the big man’s face as he turned away and walked to the small table. The little girl strapped to the table saw him coming, and she began to whimper and tremble with horror. Only then did the harshness soften somewhat on Chris’ face as he stopped and looked down at her. “Do you want me to help you or not?” he asked calmly. The little girl stopped struggling, but she began to weep pitifully and weakly.  Chris stood looking down at her, noting just how cruelly the sick Commander had tied her up. The strong twines of the rope biting viciously into her skin. He looked around quickly, but could not find any sharp-edged tool to cut the ropes. The knots were very tight, and he would waste precious time trying to untie them. Chris took a step back, spun around and brought the heel of his right foot crashing down on the free space of the table near the girl’s head. The table splintered in several places, and two of its legs broke. The rope was slack now, and he quickly pulled it off the girl’s body. She fell weakly, unable to stand up because she was so weak. Chris noticed that she smelled strongly of stale urine and blood. His stomach churned as he imagined the sort of sick horrors the Commander had put such an innocent girl through.  Chris Bawa turned away from her and looked for something that could cover her nakedness. There was nothing, but he saw the silky curtains across the windows and figured one of them could serve the purpose. Her gripped the curtains and pulled, ripping one free.  He turned around and went absolutely still at what he saw. He stared at the young girl with cold eyes. A lesser man would have vomited or fled from the room at the sight that confronted Chris, but he had spent ten years in this terrible prison, exposed to the atrocities that one human being could visit on another, and nothing much shocked him anymore. Blood covered the young girl's hands and face.  She had dug her fingers into the Commander’s eye socket, bursting both his eyes. The girl had chewed off the man’s ears, and she had also bitten off his nose and his lips. She had not stopped there, though. She had torn off the dead man’s cheeks, exposing his facial bones and his gaping teeth, making the man look like a zombie of sorts. As Chris watched, she spat out the Commander’s nose. It was quite a sickening sight, quite a torture to watch. She had been subjected to the most terrifying torture and brutality. In the end, she had taken her revenge in the only way her tortured brain had dictated.  Chris wondered idly if she would ever be the same again; if she would be sane again! Maybe chewing up the corpse of the man who had killed the soul within her would give her back some ego.  Maybe restore her self-esteem in some good way and assuage the horrors she had suffered. Without another word he dropped the curtain on her and walked toward the door. She whimpered, and he turned around again. She was trying to get to her feet, but she was too weak and in too much pain. There was no way she was going to be able to walk out of the room alone. Acrid smoke filled the room. If he left her, she would burn to ashes. Chris sighed and went back to her. He wrapped the curtain around her skeletal frame, and then he lifted her up and carried her out of the room.