Escape from Mephisto

…

With a light chink and a loud crash the last of the bricks gave way to glorious golden sunlight. Scents and sounds followed - the salty crisp of the waves, of gulls bickering over fish trapped between the rocks - and Mephisto wanted nothing more than to climb through and never look back.

Instead, he hesitated. He’d shared twelve long years with these men, shared cells, bunks, baths, and dreams. They were his brothers bonded in all but blood; step-brothers, of a kind. So he stowed the tiny chisel in his prison pocket (some habits die hard) and shouted “Boys! I’ve done it! We’re free!”. He’d squeeze every one of them through his fresh-cut boy-hole if he had to, though it would be a tight fit for some.

First came Ironbuns, trundling up to Mephisto’s waiting hole with a bounce of his prodigious belly and a grimace on his face. “There’s no way I’ll fit, Mephisto! My girth is too much! I’ll ruin your hole for the rest of the boys!” To which Mephisto said, “Nonsense, all we need is a bit of grease,” and spat on his hole. Ironbuns clambered in and, with a grunting effort from the surrounding ring of boys, managed to slide through and out the other end.

Next up was Softlips, a wiry fellow with not one tooth in his head and the nervous twitch of an inmate who knows it. “Me-Mephisto. I’ve grown to love it in here, I won’t get two steps past your hole. All I’ll be is a sticky reminder to the other boys using your hole of how many people couldn’t make it outside.” To which Mephisto tried to say, “Nonsense, come on and we’ll do this together. Can’t make it, my arse! Just think of your little girl! She needs her daddy.”

But that was when a familiar stink wafted his way and all he could do was choke out the words, “Nonsense, come on- my arse! -daddy.” A confused Softlips was then jostled through Mephisto’s hole by the odorous newcomer, Cuddleboss, who took to personal hygiene like a duck to watersports - he was covered in piss. Poo too, shoe glue and who-knew blue goo. “Mephisto, I can’t go with you. I’ll leave your hole a dirty mess, and none of the boys will want to be next.” To which Mephisto said, “Nonsense, we’ll hose it down and the next fifty boys won’t be any the wiser.”

Cuddleboss soon made it through, they tossed a few salad buckets full of water into the offending hole, and before long Mephisto started to run out of boys to cram into it. Trickyfingers, Tuggernuts, Midnight Surprise, The Blue Gagger, the Reacharound Twins, all made it through. The sun was nearly set by the time they fit Bleached Whale and Little Spoon through, and finally Mephisto found himself lifting the last of his boys - Ladyboy George - into his worn and sorry hole.

Mephisto took a second to stretch, exhausted from a hard days work and sore in the glutes. Suddenly sirens began to whine and guards began to shout. From around the bathhouse came Sandpaper Hands, at a jog and gaining. “Oh fuck,” Mephisto said, and dived into the hole head first. A few seconds of desperate crawling and he was through, and shouting, “Fucking seal it! Brick him in!”

…