Pony Boot Camp — Part Twenty-Four

A Letter

In the afternoon we had toilet duties – for the third time in five days. Kandrin was pissed about it, so to say. What was it to her? She wasn’t the one to wield the bog brush. I deprive the gentle reader of a detailed description of the cleaning activities. They weren’t nearly as eventful as they were ignominious.

Wiping down mirrors in one of the barracks, I could not but pity my own reflection. Ugly haematomata claimed the corners of my mouth and the adjacent tissue of my cheeks. My face still showed angry traces of bridle and blinkers. And if I were to bare my breasts, my nipples could be seen sore and discoloured. They were throbbing in memory of the fierce and prolonged clamping. For the first hour after the bells’ removal I had been positively sure that nerves had been permanently damaged.

Pony Boot Camp — Part Five

Girls’ Night

Evening duties mainly consisted of cleaning our new refugium. “Barracks duty”, as the laminated note pinned to the door called it. Said note informed us of our daily (and I mean daily) schedule. A strict and unchanging routine was the first step in bending the minds of errant kids back into shape.

 

DACC Participants’ Schedule

 

05:00_____________Wake up

05:15_____________Fall-in (group)

05:20_____________Morning exercise

Pony Boot Camp — Part Three

Ponewo

Ours was the third barrack. Made of precast concrete parts and painted white, it looked exactly like barrack No. 2 or 4, save for the black “3” above the entrance. Inside, it offered a single big room; bunk beds, chests, showers in a separated area at the far end. One table with chairs. Full Metal Jacket, anyone?

Ten other girls who had arrived the day before us had already been habituated to barrack No. 3. Right now they were performing laundry duty, but since this would be my abode for the next ninety days, I would surely find an opportunity to befriend them. I’m all about making friends.

Pony Boot Camp — Part Two

Deepfall

It was the rigid cuffs and hobble chains for me again. The same attire I had sported many times since the trial two weeks ago – which was a bit over the top, if I were to be asked. I had taken the damn whip for some quick laps, not to pack its boot full of TNT and drive it into the next public building. But the new nation-wide zero-tolerance doctrine had diffused into all layers of the penal system. I only got a quick glance at the bus that would bring me and six other female prisoners to our new home. As soon as the steel door to the remand centre’s vast garage opened, the guard next to me pulled a hood over my head.

“Hey, what the fuck—”

“Shut up, or you get your bitchy mouth stuffed, too.”

Pony Boot Camp — Part One

Pony Boot Camp

Prologue (Law and Order)

It was either this, or two years without probation or parole. Maybe I’d really pushed it too far this time. My latest stunt crowned a dubious career that had started when I’d been fifteen, and with a true classic: shoplifting. Breach of the peace, public nuisance and damage to property had followed; they had even nicked me once for hacking the server of the public library (don’t ask what reason I’d done that for).

I forgot to introduce myself: My name is Alexia Wert. But you can call me Alex.