This is something that I wrote a while ago, inspired by a picture in National Geographic. Comments are welcome.
~
We were born into this world of slavery and corruption. We work all day in the fields, whipped and spurred. They brand us with hot irons. And if we don?t work hard enough, or if one of us goes mad with exhaustion, then they shoot them. From dawn to dusk we are chained to wagons, forced to pull plowing blades through miles and miles of gray soot.
We used to be supreme, but that was long ago. Species rise and fall, but eventually one rises above the rest, leaving the others to cower in fear. We try to help each other though. We teach the young as much as we can before they are separated from us. We tell them not to fear, while at the same time trying to quell the never-ending terror that has been cultivated deep in our hearts.
It could be worse, a lot worse. One of us was accidentally sold once, but then bought back. She told us horrible things. Things that I do not dare to think about. I am just thankful that back breaking labour is all that we have to do. We trudge on, trying to live through each day. We have heard stories about the outside, but we know better than to hope. We are never getting out. Throughout my life I have kept track of who comes and goes. And I can tell you that no one has ever died of old age. One day, when one of us is slower than usual or getting sick, they take the poor unfortunate to the far corner of the field, and put a bullet through his skull.
There has been talk around the stalls about a revolution. Wishful thinking by youthful minds. They do not know the full extent of the horrors of this world. It will not work. It never works. I am the oldest one here. I have seen four ?revolutions? in my time, and they never work.
They could be frightened by the creature that comes every month, eyeing us like a ravenous wolf. Just like the masters. I do not know why he comes, but I have a bad feeling about him. There is no real reason not to. We can?t trust them. Any of them.
I am pulled out of the pen by one of the masters, the strange creature by his side. I have a rope tied around my neck, and I?m pulled out of the building. I can hear the cries of the others. They worry for me. I am afraid too, but resigned to my fate. Sure, I?m the oldest. I have outlived my usefulness. But instead of leading me to the field, I am pulled up a ramp into a truck. I can?t remember the last time I was in a truck, just that it was a long time ago.
The ride is long. The world goes quickly by, shown to me through the small holes in the side of the box that I am in. I can?t bear to think about what is going to happen when we stop. I curl up in a corner far away from the door. Light streams into this dark cavern. I can smell the others that were here before me. Their fear, their doubt, their absolute sorrow. Several things go through my mind. What is going to happen to me? Why are they doing this? I wish that I could say that I lived a full life, but I know that it would be a lie. I?m going to die, and there is nothing I can do about it. If there are any gods out there, they obviously do not care. A bump rattles the metal walls, sending me crashing to my knees. I am never getting out, I think in anguish.
My mind wanders like this for hours. Once, the truck stopped and another was dragged into the crate, but he wouldn?t talk to me. He just sits there rocking back and forth. Occasionally he would whimper something, but it was always too quiet to understand.
Hours go by.
The truck finally stops and we are both led out into the streets. Hundreds of creatures walk around, free. Some ogle, and some of the young pelt us with stones. I know better than to struggle, but my young friend does not. He yells as loud as he can, and thrashes around in his ropes. The new master and some others hold on as tight as they can, while another tried to tie a rope around his mouth. This doesn?t work, and the creature almost gets his fingers bitten off, so he sticks a needle in between the ropes, right into his heart. This made my new friend go all drowsy and stop fighting. Then we are separated. I do not think I?ll ever see him again.
I am pulled into a large crowd, which separates to let me pass. In the middle there is a clearing, with another creature sitting on a stool. Blood covers the ground. This is it, I think to myself. I take one last look around me, at the foreign faces surrounding me, impassive. Ropes are tied around my legs, and a creature holds my head. He says something, but I don?t understand. Suddenly, the ropes are pulled, and I go crashing to the ground. A knife appears out of nowhere and lands on my exposed throat, guided by the hand of death. Pain. Immense, all consuming pain erupts as the knife slices through my flesh. I see? I see my own blood come spurting out? in waves. My heart? is killing me? pumping my life out? through the hole that was my neck. I frantically look around? searching? for a friend. Someone to? help me? this one time in my life.
But no help comes.
~
We were born into this world of slavery and corruption. We work all day in the fields, whipped and spurred. They brand us with hot irons. And if we don?t work hard enough, or if one of us goes mad with exhaustion, then they shoot them. From dawn to dusk we are chained to wagons, forced to pull plowing blades through miles and miles of gray soot.
We used to be supreme, but that was long ago. Species rise and fall, but eventually one rises above the rest, leaving the others to cower in fear. We try to help each other though. We teach the young as much as we can before they are separated from us. We tell them not to fear, while at the same time trying to quell the never-ending terror that has been cultivated deep in our hearts.
It could be worse, a lot worse. One of us was accidentally sold once, but then bought back. She told us horrible things. Things that I do not dare to think about. I am just thankful that back breaking labour is all that we have to do. We trudge on, trying to live through each day. We have heard stories about the outside, but we know better than to hope. We are never getting out. Throughout my life I have kept track of who comes and goes. And I can tell you that no one has ever died of old age. One day, when one of us is slower than usual or getting sick, they take the poor unfortunate to the far corner of the field, and put a bullet through his skull.
There has been talk around the stalls about a revolution. Wishful thinking by youthful minds. They do not know the full extent of the horrors of this world. It will not work. It never works. I am the oldest one here. I have seen four ?revolutions? in my time, and they never work.
They could be frightened by the creature that comes every month, eyeing us like a ravenous wolf. Just like the masters. I do not know why he comes, but I have a bad feeling about him. There is no real reason not to. We can?t trust them. Any of them.
I am pulled out of the pen by one of the masters, the strange creature by his side. I have a rope tied around my neck, and I?m pulled out of the building. I can hear the cries of the others. They worry for me. I am afraid too, but resigned to my fate. Sure, I?m the oldest. I have outlived my usefulness. But instead of leading me to the field, I am pulled up a ramp into a truck. I can?t remember the last time I was in a truck, just that it was a long time ago.
The ride is long. The world goes quickly by, shown to me through the small holes in the side of the box that I am in. I can?t bear to think about what is going to happen when we stop. I curl up in a corner far away from the door. Light streams into this dark cavern. I can smell the others that were here before me. Their fear, their doubt, their absolute sorrow. Several things go through my mind. What is going to happen to me? Why are they doing this? I wish that I could say that I lived a full life, but I know that it would be a lie. I?m going to die, and there is nothing I can do about it. If there are any gods out there, they obviously do not care. A bump rattles the metal walls, sending me crashing to my knees. I am never getting out, I think in anguish.
My mind wanders like this for hours. Once, the truck stopped and another was dragged into the crate, but he wouldn?t talk to me. He just sits there rocking back and forth. Occasionally he would whimper something, but it was always too quiet to understand.
Hours go by.
The truck finally stops and we are both led out into the streets. Hundreds of creatures walk around, free. Some ogle, and some of the young pelt us with stones. I know better than to struggle, but my young friend does not. He yells as loud as he can, and thrashes around in his ropes. The new master and some others hold on as tight as they can, while another tried to tie a rope around his mouth. This doesn?t work, and the creature almost gets his fingers bitten off, so he sticks a needle in between the ropes, right into his heart. This made my new friend go all drowsy and stop fighting. Then we are separated. I do not think I?ll ever see him again.
I am pulled into a large crowd, which separates to let me pass. In the middle there is a clearing, with another creature sitting on a stool. Blood covers the ground. This is it, I think to myself. I take one last look around me, at the foreign faces surrounding me, impassive. Ropes are tied around my legs, and a creature holds my head. He says something, but I don?t understand. Suddenly, the ropes are pulled, and I go crashing to the ground. A knife appears out of nowhere and lands on my exposed throat, guided by the hand of death. Pain. Immense, all consuming pain erupts as the knife slices through my flesh. I see? I see my own blood come spurting out? in waves. My heart? is killing me? pumping my life out? through the hole that was my neck. I frantically look around? searching? for a friend. Someone to? help me? this one time in my life.
But no help comes.
