Hyenas in the corner

Ooyeaah. Hello steemians kindly enjoy this writeup

It was so hot in the yard, the flies limped at the base of the wall where he crouched. His back stuck to the stone blocks, thick with sweat, sopping through his grey jumpsuit. He ran a rough, naked arm over his brow, sloughing off some of the damned moisture, slapping it toward the ground in a whipping motion. His sleeve unrolled a bit in the process, and he cleared his throat while he rolled it back up again.

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So goddamned hot in this place, he thought.
The others milled about, some in groups, others alone. Most aloof, eyes slits as to what new chaos could be unleashed at any time. Ready for it. Ready as they’d ever be.

He put a hand above his eyes, blotting out the noonday sun as much as he could. It still peaked over the edge of the guard tower where the Admin stood, a shotgun slung in the crook of his arm.

At least he’s got some shade, he opined, getting up.
It didn’t matter where you sat, or stood. Out here, there was no relief from the cooking madness of the forever sunshine of the deranged mind. The creaking of the front gate caught his attention, and that of the others. Most of them were harmless. Just wanted to be left alone.

The hyenas in the corner, however, not so much. He tightened his grip around the toothbrush in his pocket, a smirk lifting the corner of his lip.

What new games, what new games, what new games, today shall we play?

He hummed under his breath as the words danced in his head, like a ritual prayer. The dull green school bus with the wire-meshed windows pulled into the yard. They came out, in twos and threes, surprised at first, covering their eyes at all that heat, all that sun.

Was it air conditioned in there? It was so long ago, he couldn’t remember. All he knew was that outside the gates, above the stone-cut arch, there was the statue of some stern yet benevolent-looking bald wizard. Under him, the metal plaque read: “Pleased to Meet You”. One of the assholes on the inside had climbed above the gate and etched: “Pleased to Eat You”. Could have been several assholes. Everyone stopped counting after a while.

The new arrivals were introducing themselves. He held his toothbrush and approached them, his every step kicking up a bit of the yard’s dust. Over in a corner, two of the main groups eyed each other, throwing barbs at each other to try and get a rise. Some of the best fun arose from them, or the fallout they caused. The Laske Gang was flipping the guys the bird and telling them to fuck off and die. The guy’s group, led by two of the loudest men in the yard, were getting another assault ready, and huddling before the fight. Tension was in the air.

He shook his head and sighed as he saw the Scammers approach the newbies, as always trying to get them to be their bitches. Scammers never learned. If they only spent half the energy they used to try to fuck people over to do their own work, they’d have something by now. But no.

The Laske Gang was making a move. Someone had just accused one of the leaders of the East Side Writers of molesting goats in his spare time. All of a sudden, the entire yard was filling, grey jumpsuits surrounding both groups in a death spiral.

Voices grew louder. There was shoving from all sides. One of the older ones pushed him, and he growled at her.
He couldn’t move anymore. The crush of the throng was too intense. Someone had thrown a punch. In the middle, five or six people were punching and kicking in the dirt, a cloud rising in the intense heat. Splatters of red pearled and fried on that hell-blazing ground

Up above, the Admins looked on, gazes level. Not a care in the world.

He smiled. While everyone shouted and wheeled around the fighters, throwing in their two cents about goat fucking and the derivatives thereof, he pulled out his finely-sharpened toothbrush and thought:

God I love writing.