Disclaimer: The story is of my own creation...
Genre: Slave-Fic; Angst
Warnings: Slavery; Character Death
Word Count: 955
Crossposted: 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