The kennel was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat.  I thought about what Jamison said: that Sheila was God.  It was true.  I turned and looked out at the desolate carnage.  The floor covered in enormous bloody footprints.  Within them you could see small pieces of broken bone.  Sheila’s foot odor filled the room so thoroughly every breath we took was filled with it.  It was a heavy, sour odor that went away and that we never really got used to.  Sheila never cleaned the room.  She wanted her prisoners to see the results of defiance.  It was incredibly effective. 

            At least an hour went by before Jamison started speaking again.  

            “There’s got to be something we can do.” His voice was strained, like it took great effort to form those eight words. 

            “You said it yourself” someone said, “She’s God, what the hell are we supposed to do?”

            “I know what I said, but we can’t just accept this,” his voice was sounding clearer, the whimpering gave way to the low rumble of rage.  “We can’t.” 

            “Jamison, sit down” someone said.  The voice came from the dark rear of the kennel where newer prisoners tended to gather.  They naively believed that the farther back they were, the less likely they were to be selected for one of Sheila’s “games.” What they hadn’t yet realized that Sheila had caught onto this long ago and would pull from the back.  We’d watch her enormous arm cruise through the kennel like a train coming into its station.  Her thick fingers would search and claw until they found prey, then they would enclose their victim like five boa constrictors squeezing the life out of their lunch.  The man would scream and beg for his life the entire way out.  We always turned our heads as he looked at us.  We couldn’t bear to see the pain and fear in his eyes.  To hear his vocal cords tear themselves to shreds as he pleaded for help that would never come.  The cries were always the same.  They started with demands for help, then pleading, then came the curses and promises of damnation and finally, the childlike begging for one’s mother.  We watched strong men regress to crying, screaming children as they realized that no help was coming, and their life was coming to a violent end.

            There was a brief silence.  Jamison was standing in the middle of the kennel.  The dim glow of the ceiling light came through holes in the upper side of the kennel.  Jamison’s face was illuminated by a single ray of light.  I could see how fear and stress had aged him. His eyes were hollow, almost sunken within his skull.  His skin was sagging from malnourishment and there were black spots on his torso.  They looked like bruises.  His brown beard was long, scraggly, and discolored.  Specifically, around his mouth where spit and what looked like vomit had dried, coagulated and created a sickly grey color. 

            “We can get out of here.  Even if we can’t, we can’t keep living like this.”  Jamison said.  “We’re men, we deserve to live like men.  We deserve to die like men too. 

            “What are you talking about?”  Another voice from the dark back of the kennel. 

            “I’m talking about taking a stand,” Jamison said.  He turned his head to the back of the kennel.  “A fucking stand!” 

            “You’re talking about trying to fight her.” I said.  I don’t know what made me speak up, I almost never did.  Jamison turned and faced me directly.  The intensity of his gaze made his eyes seem more sunken, almost gaunt. 

            “Yes.  I am,” he said “I’m talking about doing something that matters.”

            “Jamison, you’ve seen what she does to people,” I said “what the hell are we supposed to do against her?  What can we possibly do that would affect her at all?” 

            “I don’t know!  SOMETHING!”  Jamison seemed to be trying to convince himself more than anyone else.  “We have to fucking do something-  Wait.”

            “What?” someone said.

            “Sometimes she leaves the door open right?  We’ve seen her do that before.”

            “Yes,” I said “But we know it’s bait.”  Sheila would occasionally leave the door open during her “playtimes.”  It was a trick for the newer prisoners.  She’d let them get close the threshold before sprinting over and catching them, or worse.

            “What if we had a distraction?  What if we did something to her that would stop her for just a little while.  Maybe some of us could get away. Find help.” 

            “That’s insane Jamison” Darron said.  Someone else who rarely spoke, but when he did everyone in the kennel listened.  He had a commanding presence and a voice to match.   

            “Darron, you said earlier that we’d get out of here,” Jamison said “You haven’t given us any idea as to how.  This is something!”

            “I know, but-“

            “Look out there!” Jamison gestured to the carnage outside “Those men are dead because we didn’t do anything!  Because we were terrified of dying!  That’s how she controls us!  Fear!  I don’t care anymore Darron!  How is living like this better than dying?!  We have to do something, if not for us then for those other men that died under that fat cunts heel!” 

            Darron offered no refutation.

            “I’m with you Jamison.”  A tall man stood up next to Jamison.  He looked to be middle eastern.  His beard was grey, but he didn’t look quite as emaciated as Jamison did.  “I won’t live like this anymore.” 

            “I’m with you too” said another man, then another.  Soon a little less than half the men were standing.  Jamison was smiling, tears were forming in his eyes. 

            “Thank you all.” Jamison said. 

            “Jamison, this is insane.  What are you going to do?” I said “We’re not much bigger than action figures.  What are we going to do against her?”

            “I don’t know yet.  I’ll figure something out.  You’ll know.

            We felt the floor begin to rumble.

            “Sit down!” someone in the back screamed.  Jamison was forced to the floor by another man and those that were standing quickly fell back into place.  The triumphant feeling of the previous moment was replaced with a familiar dread.  The rumbling grew louder and more violent in a steady rhythm. 

            Sheila was coming.   

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