![prison.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmdgzPi5HZZZeVTGZw1AkL8UbFWJetjcASbBK1WuKSJhdM/prison.jpg)

I'm posting up the chapters of this uncompleted book as I hope the Steemit community might offer up its criticism (which would, in turn, force me to finish it, honestly). Started in 2008, this was my first foray into novel writing and was my undergraduate thesis required to graduate. The story is about an executioner in the not-too-distant future. Executioners are highly trained individuals with extensive educations built to help them execute their prisoners in the exact same manner that the prisoner's victims died. This is called the law of retaliation or _lex talionis_; you may know it better as "eye for an eye."

Because I was also getting my degree in philosophy, I wanted to explore the ethics involved. While I feel I'm a better writer now and could certainly expand most of this book, I also really enjoy criticism as I'm usually too close to the work to see what's working and what's not (though in this case, there's plenty that I feel is not working). So please...feel free to criticize the work if you'd like, but be constructive about it. Simply saying "this part isn't good" doesn't tell me much; don't hesitate to tell me why it's not good or offer up possible alternatives to make it better.

Thanks in advance!

***

Previous Sections/Chapters:

_Part I_
[Chapter One](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-chapter-1) / [Two](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-chapter-2) / [Three](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-chapter-3) / [Four](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/tgjcj-the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-chapter-4) / [Five](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-chapter-5) / [Six](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-6) / 
[Seven](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-7) / [Eight](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-8) / [Nine](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-9) / [Ten](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-10) / [Eleven](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-11) / [Twelve](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-12) / 
[Thirteen](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-13) / [Fourteen](https://steemit.com/writing/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-14) / [Fifteen](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-15) / [Sixteen](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-i-chapter-16-the-end-of-part-i)

_Part II_
[Chapter One](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-ii-chapter-11) / [Two](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-ii-chapter-2) / [Three](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-ii-chapter-3) / [Four](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-ii-chapter-4) / [Five](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-ii-chapter-5) / [Six](https://steemit.com/fiction/@bucho/the-bulwark-s-shadow-a-novel-in-progress-via-steemit-part-ii-chapter-6)

***

Three days of silent meals passed with just me and Dagger (I had silently given him an easy, trite nickname) in the caf, the sound of chewing and the occasional cough as our soundtrack. The guard was different every meal, but I noticed they were all hurt in some way. The black eye on the one from the first day, this one had a limp, the one at lunch yesterday kept flexing his arm as if it were knotted up and sore. No wonder we’d all been punished; the guards had taken a bit of punishment themselves before restoring order. 
	
I ate quickly and in silence, leaving the caf before Dagger, and took my time getting back to my cell. Along the way, I could see the other inmates stirring in their cells, glaring at me as if I were the embodiment of a Judas walking among them. Perhaps I would not be as cavalier with my safety once they were all allowed back into the lunchroom, whenever that might be. I had taken that for granted for too long, assuming it would never change. 

I tried to move to more pleasant thoughts by humming a tune from my childhood, but couldn’t remember how it went. I miss the music of the outside world. I have memories of music, but nothing I could really count on to be real. The tinny wail of a bow string on viola or the body pounding reverberation of a kick drum; these are things once imagined and turned real by fingers left idle and brains set on high, anxious for something sweet to sate their starving ears. We are monitored constantly by the guard station in the center of all the cells, so swiping tools from the cafeteria to play with was impossible. I had hoped to make a musical instrument of my cell somehow, but the slapping of fingers and thumb against the bed will have to do when I need a rhythm to drown out the boredom.
	
No clocks, no calendars. We tell time by the meals we’re fed and the clothing of the guards when they come to work each morning. There is no End of Day tone for me anymore, just momentary glimpses into someone else’s everyday. Some inmates marked up open skin with hash marks from makeshift blades while others concocted schemes with the NV’s who got to see clocks in the offices. I eventually stopped caring and after the third winter, drowned myself in religious texts and philosophical meanderings. I smiled after reading Socrates’ “Euthyphro” for the first time years ago, but I wept into my pillow for hours after thinking on it later. 
	
Since I have stopped believing in time as a construct to have faith in, I simply glide along now, taking my days as they come. Time exists of course, but the only times that matter to me now are the times for eating and for dying. I will eat until it is my time to stop dining at the table of thieves and lesser men, but I will go obediently when my feast is over and the silverware no longer shines and the bellies of those around me distend in anemic opposition to the normal gluttony I once knew on the outside. 
	
There is a finite amount of library here and I have gone through much of it, taking my time with each book and scouring them for answers of a sort. The history books were interesting topically, but droll and lengthy. You’d think I shouldn’t have a right to complain, but even a prisoner should get a small bit of light sometimes. Since I had been sentenced to what the judge called a reflective death, I took that to mean I would die in my cell, white beard and gnarled hands still flipping pages of books before passing on as my tunic hung more loosely every day along this skeletal frame. I have since learned that this is not so and have moved on to reading the teachings of men wiser than I; Buddha, Aristotle, Ben Franklin; minds bigger than the generations that held them. Time, as I said, no longer holds me, but Death is waiting underneath to break my fall. 

---

A full week of lunches alone ended when I walked out of my cell and found the entire caste of inmates in the caf. Elated as I was to see the guys, I almost forgot to get a tray and walk through the buffet. The caf was a cacophony of noise, a complete one-eighty from the previous week and I smiled as the entire table cheered when they saw me as I was the last to join the meal. After a few light-hearted insults, I went up to the buffet and grabbed some food, a serious hunger having arisen. When I came back to the table, I looked at everyone and my smile disappeared.
	
“Where’s Panzer?” I asked, setting my tray down to a shaking of heads and mumbled uncertainties. 
	
“He hasn’t shown up yet,” said Jilette. “Did you see him in his cell on your way to lunch, Ridsy?”
	
With a mouth more full than usual, Riddle mumbled something we couldn’t understand and kept eating as crumbs fell from his lips onto his tray. We all looked on, waiting for him to swallow. He shrugged his shoulders and began cutting up his meat. “Saw him in the room when we got questioned, garlblaggart, but ain’t seen’im since. That was,” he said, scrunching his face up in thought. “Damn near a month ago? Yup.”
	
The table groaned collectively. Reitman threw his roll at Riddle and stood up. “You asshole, the riot was only a week ago! The fuck is wrong with you?”
	
“Alright, alright, Reitman. Relax,” Jilette said, equally frustrated but grabbing Reitman’s arm and forcing him to sit down. “You know Riddle isn’t the best wellspring of information, so leave it alone. I’m sure Panzer’s probably just in his cell.” 
	
“Yeah, you guys are all on the other side, so I have no way of knowing,” I added. “I wanted to swing by during the lockdown, but I figured it was best that I didn’t.” All eyes turned on me. 
	
“Beg pardon?” Jilette had put his drink down on the table. “You telling us that you weren’t in total lockdown? Where were you then?” By this point, everyone had stopped eating. 
	
“No, I was in lockdown, but me and another guy, some gangbanger with a tattoo, were the only two allowed in the caf. I thought it was bizarre, personally, but I figured he and I must’ve been cleared of any wrongdoing by the other guards. I don’t know. I didn’t ask why because I figured I wouldn’t have gotten a straight answer anyway. I just rolled with it.”
	
“You’re free! They’re gonna let you go, garblagget!” Riddle mumbled with a scowl on his face. 
	
Big James laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think so, Ridsy. Although it is a little weird. Did anyone come talk to you or say anything to you about why you got to eat in the caf?” he asked.
	
“No. In fact, the only people I saw were the gangbanger and the rotating shift of guards. I think it was probably the quietest this prison’s ever been.” I took a bite of my own roll and promptly spit it out. Dry and cold is no way for a dinner roll to be eaten. “But as much as I hate to admit it, it’s nice to see all you ugly bastards again. The other guy wasn’t such a pleasure to eat with,” I said. 
	
Jilette grabbed his tray and got up to leave. “I’m gonna go check on Panzer, see if he’s around. If not, maybe we got another hole in the crew to fill,” he said grimly. “I’ll see you guys at dinner.” 
	
Big James leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, propping his chin up on his hands. “Ya’ll up for some cards or some bullshittin’ after lunch? Seven days alone in the stir is a lot of nothing to deal with. The book cart didn’t even make its way around, so I couldn’t get anything new to read. I had just finished that self-help book, too.”
	
I nodded. “I noticed that as well. I didn’t have anything in my cell to read whatsoever either.” After a brief pause in the conversation, we all got up to return our trays and exited the caf. “I’m up for some cards, James. Just don’t let me catch you cheating again or I’m turning you in to the guards for a proper ass beating,” I said with a grin.