Janie Got A Gun (Part 1)

The blood had dried on her face by now, of the many wounds and cuts that had been inflicted upon her since that morning when they had arrested her.

These men were dogs, she thought. Just like her daddy dear.

That brought a smile on her face.

Outside her tiny cell, she saw a demon grinning back at her from inside the little mirror, hanging above the rickety chair of the sheriff who had gone out for a smoke with his underlings about an hour ago. They had gotten quite bored of hitting her anyway. She was too quiet; grunts of suppressed pain instead of the squeals they so yearned for. Perhaps now when they came back, they were going to fuck her to get more satisfaction and then hit her. Harder.

But she didn't care. She was used to the ways of men. She had long since turned into the impervious shell of a bullet. Nothing about these blustering pathetic dogs scared her anymore. Thanks to her daddy, she was so used to it all.

She stared back at the grinning demon. The face looked the same, the blonde hair cascading in a tangled mess, the ripped t-shirt that revealed a laced black bra underneath that had turned grey when they had dragged her across the ground. She had bruises all over her face, which was puffed up brutally. Only her eyes talked back to her. A maniac glint full of wild fire. And the bruised lips, parched, twisted into a smile that could scare even the grim reaper away. The corners of her lips had bled, but the red was etched upon her face in a dried layer. She stuck out her tongue to lick it. She could taste the metal and the salt.

Blood tasted so good.

And it looked even better outside. Especially on her skin. She had felt the same when it was on her father's skin that morning. The blood had soaked his shirt and went all the way down to his jeans. And then it had poured out in torrents. Such blood loss couldn't have sustained his life for much longer.

He had stared at her in disbelief, never thinking that the object of his produce and pleasure would turn against him some day.

She looked exactly like him – blonde hair, tanned skin, all credits due to the Texas sun.

"You bitch," he had said before collapsing on the tracks.

"Yes... your bitch, motherfucker," she had said.

And then the train ran over him, his blood misting the air around her.

If he had had even a little trickle of sense in him, he would have seen it coming, Janie thought.

He should have been more careful, because raising a demon is no joke. You must keep it shackled all the time, otherwise the day will come when it will break its chains and bite back. And a lethal bite it shall be. He should have known that he had fathered a demon; a demon who became his death.

He shouldn't have raised one if he couldn't handle one, Janie thought with grim satisfaction.

And Janie thought the Sheriff could have taken a lesson out of her daddy dear's demise, because tonight too, she had been left practically unshackled. The blithering idiots had as good as left the key with her. There are more ways than one to undo handcuffs.

And with a clank, the cuffs fell off.

Janie twisted her freed hands, fingers trailing soothingly around her wrists. She could see the red cuff marks like a red bracelet on each hand.

She got up heavily, and almost staggered to a fall, but stopped short as she managed to balance herself by holding onto one of the bars. She drew the pin that she had used to unlock the cuffs and started working on the lock. It took less than a minute when she heard the satisfying click.

The dogs hadn't returned yet. She looked around, and saw her black leather jacket lying in the corner of the room. They had thrown it unceremoniously when they had brought her in. She picked it up, and dusted it lightly before putting it on.

To be continued...