Breathing in another breath, I held it in my lungs for as long as I could. The aroma of rotten eggs, piss, and puke was like second nature. To some people, I guess it could smell like death. But to me, it was just life.
Normal.
I had been in places where only rats lived. I’ve been in places where mold grew on the walls and ceilings. I’ve been in hot barns where horse poop and heat wafted from the floors.
Wherever I ended up next would just be a different type, yet a never-ending loop of pain, destruction, and hopelessness.
Nothing would change. Only the scenery, and even then, it’d most likely be at another dark place such as a basement or underground holding cell just like what I was in right now. Hands would still cause me pain. Punishments for not understanding orders would happen. But most of all, I’d still wish for death with each breath I took.
I wasn’t certain at the time and never was. Time had never once held any meaning to me. Only time to do this, or time to do that.
So I wasn’t entirely surprised when two men, both of whom were easily twice my size, opened the gate. The metal dragged against the bottom, creating a grinding noise that caused the need to cover my ears to hit me.
“Up.” The order was barked out as the door clanged against another cement wall, echoing through the hallways. Or what I assumed was a hallway.
When I didn’t move quickly enough, one of the men entered my cell, roughly pulling me up by a single arm. His fingers easily wrapped around my upper arm, the hold tight enough to leave a bruise in its wake.
My feet stumbled over one another as I was nearly dragged from my spot. Small specks of blood began to leak from my skin as the rough floor scraped against the bottom of my feet.
I didn’t fight the men. I never did. There was no point. I knew what my fate would be, and pulling against the hands of another wouldn’t end well for me.
I’ve seen how those who have fought against the hands that feed us end up. They live, but just barely. Hanging on by a thread. Only to be put right back in their place of who we all are here.
There is no in-between. You are either a slave or an owner. Nothing else.
Even the help, like these two men, were slaves. Sure, they may get money for their placement here, but even at my age, I knew something was hanging over their heads to keep them in place.
The first time I saw one of these men who handled us like cattle get a bullet to their head was at the age of seven. I’d never forget the horror of seeing blood seeping from his forehead. His eyes had been wide in shock before his body fell to the earth, mud swallowing around him.
I was pulled from the memory that was better left forgotten as a man easily picked me up and not gently plopped my body into a round tin horse tank. The water was just above the temperature of the air in this place.
With a man on each side of me, they ran a rough bar of soap over every inch of my body. The texture cut into my skin, scrubbing away each bit of grime that coated my skin.
I wanted to fight against their hold. Fight and run from this place, never to set eyes on a single person again. But I knew that would be fruitless to even try. I wouldn’t make it more than five feet before I’d be stopped. Then, only dragged back to where I currently was.
All I could do was sit in a metal bucket that was big enough to fit my body, legs scrunched up a bit, and let these men wash me from head to toe. Their touch, like so many others, wasn’t soft. It was anything but that.
My body was jarred sideways as one forcibly moved me to reach my back. I went with the motion, having no strength to fight against it.
I may want to die, but I didn’t exactly want to be in pain. My frail body could only take so much.
Once my skin was deemed clean enough, one of the men began to start washing my hair. For a brief moment, the aroma of piss was pushed away, replaced with something flowery and clean. It was a scent that shouldn’t ever be associated with a place like this. Flowers were to be in a nice house, or in the middle of a field that was green as the day was bright. Not in a hole in the middle of my personal hell.
With rough hands, the men washed every part of me before rinsing off any and all suds that could possibly cling to my skin before telling me to stand.
Like before, it took my feet too long to get with the program. My knees threatened to buckle, my feet were slippery from a mix of the water and soap in the metal tub. The men were impatient, pulling me up with a force that wasn’t needed. My body wasn’t strong enough to attempt to fight, let alone let it have more than a passing thought.
Once I was dried to their liking, a bundle of cloth was thrust into my chest.
“Dress, now.”
With slow movement, I pulled on a pair of pants and slipped on the shirt over my head. Both were a darker gray, with some sort of logo printed on the front. The symbol meant nothing to me, but I was grateful for the clothes nonetheless.
Anything was better than being naked for too long.
Chapter 2
As I was led up a set of stairs by one single man, it took all my effort to lift each foot up. With each step upward, the air slowly became cleaner. The musk still wafted up, but I could breathe just a bit easier.
