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Title: To Be Free...
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kaylashay81
Rating: FR18
Disclaimer: The story is of my own creation...
Genre: Slave-Fic; Angst
Warnings: Slavery; Character Death
Word Count: 955
Beta:avamclean
Crossposted:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
orig_slavefic; slavefics
Summary: ...for while we exist death is not present, and when death is present we no longer exist. - Epicurus
He watched with resigned trepidation as another orderly in white scrubs passed his cage. He released the breath he had held on to as the door to the cage next to him was opened and a different slave was pulled on hands and knees down the corridor.
He had been in the facility for two weeks and he knew that his time was approaching. He tried to keep away false hope that the workers would somehow forget that he was scheduled to be terminated like every other slave that sat shivering in the steel cages. He tried to empty his mind and think of himself as they thought of him, an old sex slave who didn't have a purpose anymore.
He sighed as he pulled his legs up to his bare chest so he could wrap his arms around them. The storage room was kept at a constant temperature of sixty degrees. However, none of the occupants were allowed clothing of any kind; not even any coverings to protect them from the cold wires of the steel cages.
They were not allowed to leave the cages unless it was their time to make the final journey to the euthanasia room. There was a hole in the corner of each cage for pissing or defecation. Their food was a liquid gruel delivered via a feeding mechanism that mimicked something a hamster cage would have. Other than those two simple things, the slaves in the storage room did not need anything else.
The cages were not large enough for them to stretch out. They spent each long day with their legs pulled close to their bodies, sometimes rubbing at cramped calf muscles. There wasn't even enough room to lie down for sleep. Each slave would lean against the wires at the back of their cage to get a moment of rest in between the times when another was taken away.
The clinking of chains brought his focus back to the corridor in front of him as he saw the new arrivals being led to their final home. Most had the same haunted look that he was sure had been in his own eyes when he was led to the white room lined floor to ceiling with wire cages. The ones that didn't, struggled and paid the price. He moved as far to the back of his cage as he could while he watched one of the fighting slaves get hit with the high voltage of the orderly's Taser. He didn't try closing his eyes to block the site; he would still hear everything.
Things calmed down a bit later as the newcomers settled into the cages. In the quiet, he allowed himself to drift, allowed himself to think about his life and how everything had always led to the place he now resided. His entire life was just a tunnel leading him to the room where the orderlies would take his life away.
He was twelve when his father had traded him in lieu of a gambling debt to his friend. He had gone to bed while the men were still drinking and smoking cigars around the card game downstairs. One minute he was warm and safe and the next, rough hands were dragging him from the room and stripping his clothes from him. He remembered calling out for his mother, but no one rescued him.
He learned quickly what being a slave meant, just as he learned that he no longer had any control over how his life would progress. As he aged, he was passed from owner to owner as each of the previous ones would tire of him after a year or two. When he reached his twenty-fifth birthday, it became harder for his current owner to sell him to someone new. His last owner hadn't even bothered. He had just called the pick-up service and left him tied outside the front door to await his fate.
He was just over thirty and he was about to die. The first time he had learned of the way in which old slaves were disposed, he had been eighteen and recently sold to a new owner. When he had arrived at his new home, he temporarily shared living quarters with a slave who was just past thirty. The slave had not been too friendly with him as he had tried to size up his potential competition.
He learned the next morning that the older was the furthest thing from competition when it came to his new owner. The slave was being "put out to pasture" and he had listened as the topic of killing older slaves was discussed over top his kneeling body. For months after the disappearance of the slave, he had vivid nightmares of what would happen when his time came. They didn't compare to what he now faced.
The slap of the heavy metal door to the storage room alerted the arrival of another faceless orderly tasked with collecting a slave. He didn't realize that the orderly had stopped at his cage until he heard and felt the click of the leash attaching to the ring on his collar. With a tug, he was moving on unsteady hands and knees from the cage and dumbly following the man holding his leash.
He wanted to fight, he wanted to scream and kick and shout to anyone that would listen that he wasn't ready to die. He wanted to live. He wanted a life that he never had. He wanted to know what it would have been like had his father not sold him away twenty years before. He wanted to do anything other than crawl to his own demise. He wanted to be free.
Read the companion piece Living Oblivion
Author:
kaylashay81Rating: FR18
Disclaimer: The story is of my own creation...
Genre: Slave-Fic; Angst
Warnings: Slavery; Character Death
Word Count: 955
Beta:
avamcleanCrossposted:
orig_slavefic; slaveficsSummary: ...for while we exist death is not present, and when death is present we no longer exist. - Epicurus
He watched with resigned trepidation as another orderly in white scrubs passed his cage. He released the breath he had held on to as the door to the cage next to him was opened and a different slave was pulled on hands and knees down the corridor.
He had been in the facility for two weeks and he knew that his time was approaching. He tried to keep away false hope that the workers would somehow forget that he was scheduled to be terminated like every other slave that sat shivering in the steel cages. He tried to empty his mind and think of himself as they thought of him, an old sex slave who didn't have a purpose anymore.
He sighed as he pulled his legs up to his bare chest so he could wrap his arms around them. The storage room was kept at a constant temperature of sixty degrees. However, none of the occupants were allowed clothing of any kind; not even any coverings to protect them from the cold wires of the steel cages.
They were not allowed to leave the cages unless it was their time to make the final journey to the euthanasia room. There was a hole in the corner of each cage for pissing or defecation. Their food was a liquid gruel delivered via a feeding mechanism that mimicked something a hamster cage would have. Other than those two simple things, the slaves in the storage room did not need anything else.
The cages were not large enough for them to stretch out. They spent each long day with their legs pulled close to their bodies, sometimes rubbing at cramped calf muscles. There wasn't even enough room to lie down for sleep. Each slave would lean against the wires at the back of their cage to get a moment of rest in between the times when another was taken away.
The clinking of chains brought his focus back to the corridor in front of him as he saw the new arrivals being led to their final home. Most had the same haunted look that he was sure had been in his own eyes when he was led to the white room lined floor to ceiling with wire cages. The ones that didn't, struggled and paid the price. He moved as far to the back of his cage as he could while he watched one of the fighting slaves get hit with the high voltage of the orderly's Taser. He didn't try closing his eyes to block the site; he would still hear everything.
Things calmed down a bit later as the newcomers settled into the cages. In the quiet, he allowed himself to drift, allowed himself to think about his life and how everything had always led to the place he now resided. His entire life was just a tunnel leading him to the room where the orderlies would take his life away.
He was twelve when his father had traded him in lieu of a gambling debt to his friend. He had gone to bed while the men were still drinking and smoking cigars around the card game downstairs. One minute he was warm and safe and the next, rough hands were dragging him from the room and stripping his clothes from him. He remembered calling out for his mother, but no one rescued him.
He learned quickly what being a slave meant, just as he learned that he no longer had any control over how his life would progress. As he aged, he was passed from owner to owner as each of the previous ones would tire of him after a year or two. When he reached his twenty-fifth birthday, it became harder for his current owner to sell him to someone new. His last owner hadn't even bothered. He had just called the pick-up service and left him tied outside the front door to await his fate.
He was just over thirty and he was about to die. The first time he had learned of the way in which old slaves were disposed, he had been eighteen and recently sold to a new owner. When he had arrived at his new home, he temporarily shared living quarters with a slave who was just past thirty. The slave had not been too friendly with him as he had tried to size up his potential competition.
He learned the next morning that the older was the furthest thing from competition when it came to his new owner. The slave was being "put out to pasture" and he had listened as the topic of killing older slaves was discussed over top his kneeling body. For months after the disappearance of the slave, he had vivid nightmares of what would happen when his time came. They didn't compare to what he now faced.
The slap of the heavy metal door to the storage room alerted the arrival of another faceless orderly tasked with collecting a slave. He didn't realize that the orderly had stopped at his cage until he heard and felt the click of the leash attaching to the ring on his collar. With a tug, he was moving on unsteady hands and knees from the cage and dumbly following the man holding his leash.
He wanted to fight, he wanted to scream and kick and shout to anyone that would listen that he wasn't ready to die. He wanted to live. He wanted a life that he never had. He wanted to know what it would have been like had his father not sold him away twenty years before. He wanted to do anything other than crawl to his own demise. He wanted to be free.
Read the companion piece Living Oblivion
You also managed to make me feel for the slave in this, and in just under 1000 words to boot. Bravo for you! *claps*
This is my original story, so I'm glad it came across the way I wanted it to. There are many questions about this world and I'm not sure I know all of them yet.
The slave was in a bad place because he didn't know if wanted to be alive and free and just dead which would also free him. He knew not to the expect the first one, but there was always hope until that last moment.
It's depressing, that sliver of hope that gets shattered. This really was wonderfully written!
I'll probably come back to this world at some point. It just created itself in the last five hours, so I'll have to think on it some. I get the strangest plot bunnies while taking a shower.
If so, have you ever looked at Slave Breakers by
http://maculategiraffe.livejournal.com/10338.html
That is the index page if you want to give it a shot.
My suggestion is to read "Bran" then "Jesse". Then skip down to the one-shots that take place pre- and post- Bran and Jesse. Then read "Lee". Then read everything after "Lee". She is an awesome writer...
Then there are some great fics that others have done in her verse:
She's also working on some new storylines on it right now that follow some of the side characters. That's one thing I like about her. While her main characters get lots of attention, the side characters get love too.
I love when side characters get attention. They do, after all, support the story. That's why they're there! *g*
:-)
Just make sure you have time on your hands before reading. They're addictive. ;-)
Also, I really loved the depressing tone this story had. I also loved the final paragraph, especially the last line--that was a perfect way to end this piece, I think.
All in all, I really enjoyed reading this. The whole "character death" aspect was what reeled me in, and I'm really happy that I ended up reading this. Great work!
I debated putting a character death warning on it since I don't really have any characters die on screen but I know some don't like implied death, so I went with the warning. Glad you gave it a chance!
I had a very depressing and made me sad as I wrote it. I almost want to write happy crack!fic for something to make up for the sadness now.
For the slave I focused on, I felt that he wanted to go down fighting, but didn't have it in him to do what he had watched do before him. He fought on the inside, but not on the outside.
Thanks for the review!
*snuggles pillow*
I have to say, I read that, then thought, "Wait. There's more to it than that," read it again, and nodded. Second time around, there's more to it than him just thinking about what it would be like to be free. He's actually trying to fight back, but he doesn't know how, or he's just too brainwashed into believing he has no rights and whatnot. (I'm not sure that just made sense.) Loving the tone here - definitely drew me in.
The clinking of chains brought his focus back to the corridor in front of him
I don't know. For some reason, that's my favorite line. It's almost like that's excitement and entertainment for him - it's the only thing worth seeing, so he's going to pay attention to it if it kills him. Loved it. Times a billion. (Falling asleep typing this. Thanks again for the DW!)
He definitely wants to fight against what he has no control over. And you are right, he has no clue how to fight back. He was able to when everything started because he was so young around the adults. And by the time he was old enough to act out, he didn't because he was resigned to what he was.
It is morbid entertainment for him and the others. The first few days there, not so much. But after they settle in to what is to come, watching is the only thing they can do to break the monotonous staring at the cage bars.
And you are welcome for DW!
Glad you liked it... It was my first real trip into original writing, so I'm kinda nervous. Although I'm already writing a companion fic to it. :-)
I've done a companion piece one-shot to this, but I'm not sure it comes across as well as this one, so I'm thinking on it before I post.
Glad you liked the universe this little bit created.
Glad you liked!
Will you be continuing this verse?
I think I may visit it more... I think...
I think I'll be standing out there with you and I'm the one that created the darn place.
Thank God Keeper!Tony didn't wind up in a place like that. Because I could totally see 'Daddy Dearest' planning that for his fate after he and his people grew bored with torturing him. He'd pay off the center or guards to pretend he'd been 'salvaged' for some other use, and when Tony went through the door to meet his new owner he'd be in the gas chamber. (Not that I'm still obsessing over the Keeper'verse or anything. :P )
And yeah... I could see a Keeper!Tony who didn't get away from his father ending up in something like this a few years down the line when Daddy and his cronies tired of him. *hugs Keeper!Tony*
This world views slaves like some view overpopulated dogs and cats. If they can't be of use to someone, then they put them down... :-(
I have a companion piece posted to this...
In Slavefics there tends to be 'that bad place' that slaves are always threatened with. You never see it.
And you just showed it in the best way possible.
I'm just so so so happy that you didn't do this to a character I care about. If you had put this story at the end of an epic piece, where you had built up the character...I would hate you. So much.
But you didn't- so I love you. You understand what I mean right?
Didn't you just want to put in a Deux Ex Machina and save the guy. That would have been nice :/
PS: In the cat homes where I live they aren't put down.
I don't know if I could have done this to a character I had built up... I had a hard enough doing it to this character.
I had ideas of abolitionists breaking in and freeing him, but in the end, the world is not always pleasant.
Most shelters I know of don't put the animals down, but I also know of some that do. I had a friend in college that worked at one for awhile for her degree towards Vet school. She ended up with a puppy because she couldn't put it down when she did the others.
GUH
I'm going to stop now. Because the next thing coming out of my mouth will be marriage proposals.
I didn't think of it that way, but you are right on this being the 'red-shirt' character so to speak. All the others the people know get their happily ever after with a caring master while this poor soul is hung out to dry.
I have an idea for a story in this verse where one gets a new 'job' as a slave when they do the evaluation and will likely get his happily ever after or something close to it.
But this one... yeah... he died. Although, death may have been the release for freedom he needed.
One line ripped my heart out with it's despair and futility, His entire life was just a tunnel leading him to the room where the orderlies would take his life away. I kept hoping for a last-minute reprieve, even though I knew it wouldn't happen.
I wrote this in like an hour, so I'm glad that the essence of where the slave was came across so well. I too kept waiting for that last-minute reprieve even though I *knew* there wasn't going to be one. Is that bad?
:-) I think that's called being swept away by the Muse.
One of the reasons I never write original fiction is that I want something I've never seen before if I'm going to make it my own and any idea I ever think up has already been done. So I was happy to think up something I hadn't read elsewhere.
Glad you enjoyed and thanks for the review!