Well, the truth is, for this story I can't come up with a good title. =( But I hope this chapter makes up for it. =) This is one of my favorite stories. Enjoy!
Murphy
{somewhere in the dessert}
The silence around me is audible; a beckoning to the enslaved, who, like me await our fates, our new lives.
All I can see is dirt. It settles in the air and acts as a thin layer on my skin.
In the dungeon there are twenty, maybe thirty of us, sitting and waiting. The stench of grime, sweat, and pee engulfs me. A bucket near the wall passes for a toilet. I can hear the flies buzzing in the air, intoxicated by the smell of it. I’m pretty sure there are maggots, and other wormy creatures that inhabit the small bucket too. I haven't had the need to use it. But if the need came I suppose I would.
It's dark outside. I can tell by the shadows in the cavern illuminated by the setting sun. I'm hungry, weak, and tired. I can't remember when I got here, or how long I've been stuck in this dingy cage. The thought is depressing.
Stories of the enslaved used to frighten me as a young child. Of course they were meant to educate us. But nothing could have prepared me for bondage of enslavement. The betting grounds do something to a person’s soul. I think it may be the fact that no one will ever come looking for us. Once we are Taken from our villages we are no longer our parents problem. That's not to say that our families won't miss us, because they will. It's just that the Law is sacred and anyone who dare go against the Commanding Officer will be punished by death or worse become a blood slave.
There are two kinds of slavery. The first is the bonded slave. A bonded slave is a person who is bonded to their master but can be sold or traded. The second type is a blood slave. A blood slave is someone who is bound to their master forever until death do they part. Usually a blood slave wears something that shows what family they belong to. Either be it a branding seared into flesh or a collar worn around the neck. A blood slave is treated worse than a dog that will never be able to escape the confines of servitude. At least a bonded slave has the chance of being set free one day.
The first few weeks in the betting grounds are the worst. It takes a while for the human senses to adjust. The stench of rotting corpse that lingers in the air becomes unbearable until one day the need the throw up goes away. The heat from the sun rolls off in waves gradually making it difficult to breathe. Some have passed out more than once. The unfortunate ones have never woken up from their slumber adding to the carcasses that pile near the far-end of the cage.
I hug my arms over my stomach carefully positioning the metal chain aside. I can feel the outline of ribs protruding through my taught skin. I grimace as I slide my fingers up and down my sides. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten a proper meal. We don't get much food around here and when we do it's usually a small piece of stale bread. I can no longer hear the hunger pains that used to taunt me in my sleep. It's more like a hollow emptiness that never seems to go away. Whenever I do eat I get uncomfortable stomach pains. I usually give my rations to the guy sitting next to me. At first I used to get weird looks because of it but now it has become a sort of regular thing. Until three days ago that is. On impulse I grabbed my portion and stuffed it in my mouth. At first I felt embarrassed because of it but as soon as that feeling came it left. I don't know what came over me but the smell of meat ignited the ravaging hunger I suppressed. It was like a primal instinct and I savored every morsel. The flavors of butter, rosemary, and garlic exploded in my mouth like a rapture. It was heavenly and a treat indeed. Most importantly it was the last meal our captures gave us. Even now I think some part of me knew that I would never get another chance at a simple meal of meat and potatoes. I'm still convinced our captures gave us food to make us look lively, well, as lively as we can manage.
A balding white man in dirty travelers’ clothes comes up to the cage. He has a key in one hand, and a whip in the other.
"Get up! It's time!" he yells.
Since my hands are shackled, I use my legs to stand up. The long chain sways back and forth against my bare thighs. When I first arrived, the same man who opened the cage gave me two cloths. I had used one to cover my bare chest, and wrapped the other around my small backside. The once form fitting strips now hang loose over my frail body.
I am stick thin with no ounce of fat in me that I can tell. I still cannot get used to the way my skin stretches over my bones. How the blue veins in my legs and arms are so noticeably visible. The others look just like me. All skin and bones. Their eyes hollow and lips chapped with dried blood from the beatings they received. Their bodies battered and caked in dirt. All the way from here I can see the wounds that have yet to heal and probably never will. Open lacerations that will most likely get infected. And since the enslaved do not receive medical attention the sick will die as nature sees fit.
As much as my pop tried to shield his only daughter from the dangers of living in the wild he couldn't 'baby' me forever. I learned survival techniques from the villagers: how to hunt fresh game, how to properly weave baskets, and the technique used to clean and chuck fresh fish. It's not like I had much of a choice, really. The fond memories of my family send a warm pang to my heart. I will never see them again and yet I know some part of them will always be with me.
I look around careful not to trip on the small mountains of lifeless bodies that scatter the dungeon. As I get into formation the others start to huddle around me. I can hear the sound of chains scrape against the floor the closer that we inch to the opening. There are two guards one on each side of the door with their whips in hand ready to use if any one of us dares to take a step out of formation. The balding mans calculating gaze sweeps over us making sure that all eyes are on him.
Hastily everyone goes silent.
We stop walking and wait for instruction. Not even the breathes of the others can be heard. My heart pounds erratically in my chest both in anticipation and anxiety of what is to come. I steady my breathing and focus on the balding man in front of us.
"Take one step out of line and my men won't hesitate." he instructs.
We walk out of the dingy cavern, two-by-two in a line. The sound of chains echo in my ear: clink-clank, clink-clank. Even though the sun is setting it’s still hot outside. The muggy air makes it hard to breathe. Beads of sweat form at my temple and run down my neck. The sky overhead is a bloody red hue with tones of blue and purple mixed in. The further we walk in the hot desert sand the more shards of colored glass and sharp rocks I see on the floor around me. I manage to side step around a huge chunk of blue glass. I sigh in relief. It would have been painful if I cut myself. Thankfully I don't see anything in the sand that can do serious damage to the nerve endings in my feet.
We walk passed the podium and I try to still my beating heart without much success. I can see the buyers in the boxed seats, watching us from above. They look like ants from here. If only they were as harmless. I can feel their eyes watching me, surveying my every move. No doubt looking for any imperfection that I possess. I look down, my nerves getting the best of me. I can't help but notice my feet. They are blood red and sticky. I don't remember stepping on anything sharp, but then again, it's impossible not to get cut by all the impurities on the ground. Judging by the amount of blood that has started to pool around me in a faint circle, by tomorrow my feet will be sore and tender. Sadly there is nothing that I can do to assess the damage on the bottom part of my feet until I am released from these damned chains.
A horn is blown in the distance and my earlier concerns no longer seem to matter.
The balding man is standing between us and our soon-to-be masters.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let the betting begin." he booms.
His men are standing around us in a circle, each with equally threatening weapons. The trade goes by faster than my last. One by one a buyer walks up to the podium and offers a price. If the balding man doesn’t like the number he offers the slave to someone else, until he is satisfied with the amount. I cringe inwardly as a jewelled collar is tightly fastened on to a young woman's slim neck. From this day on she will be considered a blood slave and will be treated as such. Her head hangs forward probably with shame and defeat as her tattered long brown hair cascades over her hallow cheeks. I watch as her new master tugs on the golden chain with enough force to nearly make her fall down to her knees. The guards do nothing to help the poor young woman, she is after all, at the bottom of the social class.
With impatience and a fierce glint in the masters eyes he back hands his new blood slave. To my surprise she does not make a sound. Instead, she quickens her pace until she is only a few steps behind her new master.
Wanting to shake the image out of my head I focus my attention to the boxed seats above. I squint my eyes together trying to get a better look. There are not many heads left to count. Two, maybe three? If someone doesn’t buy me soon I will become Undesirable and put into prostitution.
I have heard that sex is a powerful thing. Unfortunately for me I don’t know anything about that. I figure I will learn how to make men grovel with desire in their eyes. I shiver as goose-bumps form on my spine. Just the thought of touching a man freaks me out. Let alone having to figure out where to put my hands.
I could break out of formation and try to escape but one of the guards will more than likely shoot me dead in my tracks. Then I will bleed out until my lifeless body no longer spasms on the floor. I may be enslaved but I’m not a coward. I will not die here in front of these strangers who laugh and mock at me. If being Undesirable is how I end up than I will do it with the little dignity that I have left.
The balding man blows his horn. "The trade is done. Until next time." he bows.
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