Welcome to Hell, Sweetheart

The sharp sound of boots striking the cold concrete floor echoed down the dimly lit hallway. Cynthia felt the sharp jab of the officer’s baton against her back, urging her forward.

“Move it, inmate,” the officer barked, her voice laced with irritation. “Or I’ll give you a reason to.”

Cynthia quickened her pace, her prison-issued uniform clinging uncomfortably to her damp skin. The hallway stretched on endlessly, lined with thick steel doors, each one a reminder of her grim reality.

The officer behind her was tall and broad-shouldered, her dark hair pulled into a tight bun. A leather whip curled around her right hand, the tip dragging against the floor with a sinister hiss. Cynthia didn’t dare look back, but she could feel the woman’s gaze burning into her like a brand. She was waiting, daring Cynthia to make one wrong move.

At the end of the corridor, Cynthia hesitated, glancing over her shoulder for further instruction.

The officer’s voice sliced through the air. “Fool, climb up the fucking staircase!” she shouted, her voice vibrating through the hallway.

Cynthia flinched, lowering her head submissively as she turned toward the stairs. The concrete steps were worn and chipped, each one carrying her closer to what she could only assume was her new prison cell. The officer’s heavy footsteps followed closely behind, an unrelenting presence breathing down her neck.

When they reached the second floor, the officer’s voice boomed again. “Stop climbing. This is your floor.”

The sudden, sharp command sent a shiver down Cynthia’s spine. She obeyed instantly, pausing mid-step before turning down the hallway. The air on this floor was thick, the smell of sweat and something metallic lingering in the air.

Halfway down the hall, the officer’s voice cut through the silence once more. “Room 305.”

Cynthia’s eyes darted to the numbered tag on the door a few feet ahead, her stomach twisting with unease. Reaching the door, she halted, standing directly opposite it, waiting for what came next.

The officer brushed past her, the impact of her shoulder causing Cynthia to stumble slightly. Without acknowledging the effect of her shove, the officer slid open the peephole of the steel door and peered inside.

“On your feet, inmate,” she ordered coldly. “Back away from the door. You got yourself a new roommate.”

From inside, movement stirred, followed by the dull shuffle of feet. The officer watched for a moment before pulling out a set of keys and inserting one into the lock. With a harsh twist, the lock clicked open, and with one swift push, the heavy door groaned on its hinges.

She turned to Cynthia, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. “Get in.”

Cynthia hesitated for a split second before stepping forward. The officer bulged her eyes mockingly, as if daring her to resist. Cynthia swallowed down her fear and moved past her, stepping into the cold, cramped cell.

The door clanged shut behind her with finality. A metallic click of the lock confirmed her imprisonment. Through the small peephole, the officer’s smirk deepened.

“Get acquainted,” she said, a wicked glint in her eyes. “I’d be careful if I were you— this one’s got a record. Hospitalized the last three people who shared this cell with her.” She winked. “Good luck, sweetheart.”

With that, the peephole snapped shut, and the sound of boots retreating down the hallway faded away.

Cynthia forced herself to remain still, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. Slowly, she turned her gaze to her new roommate.

The woman was massive. Thick rolls of muscle and fat stretched against the seams of her uniform, making her look even more intimidating. Her dark eyes studied Cynthia with a cold, calculated look, and when she spoke, her voice was deep and rough.

“New roommate huh?”

Cynthia nodded hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. I'm Cynthia what's your name?” She forced her trembling hand forward for a handshake.

The woman’s gaze flicked to Cynthia’s outstretched hand, her expression darkening. A slow, hateful smirk spread across her face before she spat on the floor and leaned back against the wall.

“I ain’t your fucking friend,” she sneered. “You stay on your side, and I stay on mine. You so much as breathe wrong, and I’ll do to you what I did to the last bitch who tried to play nice.”

Cynthia’s hand dropped instantly, her throat tightening.

The woman smirked again, stretching out on her cot. “Name’s Ashley,” she said. “But to you?” She turned her head slightly, eyes narrowing. “I’m Mommy.”

Cynthia’s stomach twisted at the name.

Ashley let out a low chuckle, closing her eyes. “Welcome to hell, sweetheart.”

Cynthia pressed herself against the cold wall, her mind racing. She had to get out of here. Somehow. Someway. But for now, she had to survive.

And surviving meant staying the hell out of Mommy’s way.