I can lament just fine here.

—Miserable. Pathetic. Meager. Low.

The four kids stop what they're doing and look at the man.

He bends a twisted finger at the bags of blood set on the rusted TV tray

beside him. —What is this?

The girl snaps her gum. —S'blood.

He leans forward and peers at her. —What is that in your mouth, Meager?

She shuffles her feet, looks elsewhere. —Nothin'.

Something like a tongue snakes out from his mouth and leaves a slimy trace over dry lips. —Is it? Is it nothing?

His arm snaps out and long spider fingers clutch her round cheeks and squeeze. —Then you shall not mind opening wide for me to see.

Her throat works, trying to swallow, and he squeezes harder. —Now, now, dear. Open wide.

He wrenches and her mouth opens and he thrusts the fingers of his other hand inside and comes out with the gnawed wad of gum.

—Nothing.

He grips her by the jaw, three fingers inside her mouth, his thumb digging under the chin, and pulls her close, holding the gum in front of her eyes. —This is nothing, is it?

She makes a grunting noise.

He clacks his teeth twice.

—Chewing chewing chewing. Grotesque. Perhaps I will change your name. Grotesque. Would you like that? It would suit you.

Her throat hitches again, tears are coming out of her eyes.

The hand holding the gum is shaking.

—No? You would not like to be Grotesque? Well, to keep your name there will be a price. This, this is nothing? Then the price will be easily paid.

He shoves the gum into her left nostril, yanking her head down as she tries to pull back. —This is nothing, child, nothing at all. Be still.

A long whine comes from her throat as he forces the gum farther inside, his index finger pushed in past the second knuckle, blood trickling out. —Don't fret so, child, but a little farther and it will be back in your mouth.

She coughs and gags and he shoves her onto the floor. —Nothing,

He holds out his saliva and mucous covered hands. —Pathetic.

The boy with the police cap steps forward with a box of tissues, and the man plucks several and wipes his fingers.

—The ends I went to, the sacrifices I made, the labors endured to bring you here for your betterment. And yet here you are, even now, defying my most basic edicts and commands.

The girl hacks loud three times and the gum coughs out of her mouth, elongated and glossy.

He mashes the tissues and throws them at her. —Wipe your spittle, child.

She takes the tissues, still hacking, picks up the gum and wipes her phlegm and spit and tears, creating wet trails in the grime on the filthy linoleum.

He lifts his chin high, looks down his nose. —Disgusting. Foul. Those names, too, would be apt. —You know, next time he sticks his fingers in your mouth, you should really

bite them off.

The girl and the man and the three boys look at me in my dark corner of the room where I lie in my own blood, bound in the twisted lengths of barbwire. —Seriously. You snap off a couple of those digits, I guarantee he'll be thinking twice before he goes mining for your gum again. Those things don't grow back too well. Makes a real impression when you bite one off. —Low!

Moustache pushes the mans wheelchair forward, into the overhead light. —Closer, boy, closer.

He rolls until his feet are inches from my face, the long gnarled nails almost poking me, reeking of toe jam and rot. —A biter, are you? Like something to chew on, would you?

His foot lashes and the nail of his big toe cuts into my lips and he forces it inside. —There. Tasty? How you most like it, is it?