Dog.
That’s the name Marone hurled at me as he followed me to this black hole. His voice was pleasant and soft while he watched me get shoved face-first into the iron bars. The name bounces around my head now, taunting me along with the food.
While the smell is enough to leave me nauseous, my stomach decides differently. Growling and gnawing, my insides twist with hunger. I resist the urge to eat, but my mouth begins to fill with saliva, wanting the mush anyway.
I try—I really do—to maintain hold of my pride, of the stubbornness that has gotten me this far in life, but the pain, the hunger, the—fuck—the fearoverwhelms me. With tears still prickling my eyes, I uncurl my hand from underneath me and scoop the sludge into my mouth. My stomach acid immediately surges the second thefoodtouches my tongue, but I force everything down together.
The first swallow is the hardest. It comes with watery eyes, retching, and shame. My stomach doesn’t like it, but after a while, the growling comes to an end. I have to force myself to endure, to keep it down when the bowl is finally empty, but I do it. I ate it all.
Wiping the gunk away with the back of my hand, I push the bowl away, listening to it ding against the bars in the darkness. I remain on my stomach, head resting on my crossed arms. Fighting the need to close my eyes, I focus on every inch of my body. It all throbs in agony, from the inside of my eye sockets down to my toenails. Everything has a pulse. Everything begs for relief.
That’s the last thing on my mind before my eyelids succumb to the crushing weight.
Please give me relief.
My prayer was answered—somewhat.
For four days, I was left alone. I was fed and watered like a dog, but at least I wasalone. On the fifth day, when the slop never came, I was sure Marone had left me here to rot. And then the door opened.
A light brighter than the others gleams in, illuminating spit-shined shoes.
“Are you alive in there?” His voice now seems stronger, more powerful than when I was latched to his ankle. Still, I refuse to cower beneath his boot.
“Fuck you.”
Booming laughter is his response, a howling so loud it still rings long after he’s finished. Stepping right before the cage, Marone crouches, smirking right in my face. “I’m glad to see there’s still some life in you, boy. You’re going to need it.”
The top of the cage opens, and two sets of hands reach in to pull me out. I don’t fight it. There’s no point when everything is numb. I let these two guards press me against the sharp corner. One holds me in place while the other shackles my arms behind me. The feeling starts to come back then, stinging, sharp needle pricks running from my fingertips to my shoulders.
“I heard you behaved, ate all your food like a good dog. I think you deserve a treat for that. Don’t you?”
I feel the weight of his words, but I don’t understand. In the dim lighting, they all watch me—the guards with blank stoicism, but Marone is all glee. There’s an eager quality to his smile, one that doesn’t sit well in the pit of my stomach.
Once Marone gets his fill of me, he turns his back and guides us through the door. I refuse to follow at first, and then I realize I’m unable to at all. The numbness in my legs is past the point ofa quick return, but eventually, as I’m partially carried down dim stone pathways, sensation comes back to me—one pinprick at a time.
“Where are we going?” I ask, fatigue sitting heavy on my shoulders. It even wraps around my vocal cords, making it exhausting to speak.
“Shut the fuck up,” the guard holding onto my clasped hand bites, giving me a quick jerk forward.
Resisting the urge to grunt in pain, I chew on my lip. Looking back, Marone smirked at seeing the blood bead on my lip. I won’t give him the satisfaction of asking a second time. Fuck him, even if my anxiety is begging for answers.
With as much dignity as I can muster, I follow behind, counting my steps and tracking every corner we turn. After a while, it becomes confusing. All the dark paths look the same. The only difference I’ve noticed is the scratches on the wall—on the floor. They deepen the longer we walk, becoming darker, more panicked, and rusted with blood.
As if the guards expect me to reach for the wall, to add my own markings, they keep me in the center, their hold on me unrelenting.
“A lot of boys have walked down these halls. Can you guess how many have returned?”
Silence.
“That’s a good guess. You’re a smart mutt.” His laughter is a nauseating sound, but soon, it is overwhelmed by the shouting and cheers just beyond the door ahead. Though muffled, the unmistakable noise of flesh hitting flesh reverberates within me. I began to understand why the others panicked, why there was so much clawing in the concrete.
Marone opens the door, entering first, of course, and steps into a crowded room. Men part in his presence, showcasing the boys in chain collars. About twelve of them sit on their knees,eyes to the ground, while the men above them shout into a circle. The hole in my stomach becomes wide enough to swallow me entirely when I see two of them in the center.
Children… fighting for their lives.
Two boys, one appearing sixteen and the other maybe… nine, dance around each other in slow, tired steps. Their faces, still full of youth, are devoid of life. As I look around, I notice they all are. None of these kids has any fight left in them. They’re all just… waiting to die. One jab to the nine-year-old’s throat, and I think he does just that.
“Get the fuck up!” A man with an empty chain yells, face pulsating red with veins threatening to explode out of his forehead. He swings the chain over his shoulder, whipping the boy across his stomach, but the boy doesn’t move. He doesn’t even flinch.
