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Guard
My first attempt at a story. I hope you enjoy!
PART 1
The whole travesty of a court case didn’t take longer than a few minutes. Two guards had stormed into my cell; one of them grabbed a thick strand of my hair, wrapped it around his wrist several times, and pulled me up.
“Move it, slave!” he yelled and pushed me through the cell door and along the corridor.
The concrete floor felt icy under my naked feet. There had been no need for the second guard. I was naked, my hands were shacked close together in my back, connected to the chain between my feet shackles through another chain, just long enough to stand upright. We were in a high-security prison. Where would I even try to go? They could have just politely asked me to follow them and I would have obeyed. I knew what fate was waiting for me and I knew it was inescapable. That scratching of the chains on the floor reminded me with every step.
They led me into the “courtroom” which looked more like a decrepit classroom. The guard positioned my exposed body just in front of the desk of the fat and sleazy judge. The other guard gave him a scrap of paper. There were just a few words scribbled onto it. The judge didn’t even look up.
“This impertinent slave has tried to flee from our glorious country?”
He immediately slammed the big wooden hammer onto the desk. Its bang echoed through the almost empty room.
“Guilty! The slave is sentenced to death by crucifixion in accordance with the laws and common sense. The sentence will be carried out tomorrow. Next!”
Under different circumstances that might even have been funny. “In accordance with the laws and common sense”! They made up the law just as they needed to. But I didn’t have a lot of time to think about that. The guard pushed me through the building again, this time taking a different turn. Finally, I was dragged into a small bureau. It was empty. One of the guards sighed.
“Where’s lazybones? I want to get off work sometimes.”
He sighed again and kicked into the back of my knees.
“Waiting position, slave!”
I assumed the required position, kneeling up with my legs spread as widely as possible. The guards started to talk about a rugby match that was supposed to happen that evening. There were bits of residual glue on the back of the desk. As if stickers had been removed. It’s strange that this occupied my mind with less than a day left to live. Adhesive. Sports. Kneeling. Waiting in a smelly office. Willingly devoted to fate. Not exactly how I pictured my final hours a few years ago.
Shuffled steps came closer from the other side of the door.
“Finally!” the guard whispered.
A grey office drudge with a bored look on his face entered and nodded at the guards.
“We bring another convict. Attempt to escape. Death by crucifixion.”
The grey shape slowly opened a huge folder.
“Slave registration number?”
“4905-9268” I replied mechanically.
The clerk noted my number.
“Done”, he said to himself. He hadn’t even looked at me. “Take the convict to deathrow.”
The guard dragged me onto my feet again. I was pushed along more corridors and down a flight of stairs. I front of a sturdy metal door we had to wait for a while, then a buzzer went off and the door swept open. A room to the left was separated from the walkway only by bars. In the dim light I could perceive at least a dozen of women huddled on the floor, naked and in chains like me. There was the sound of stifled sobs and clinking chains.
One guard reached for a shelf with a jumble of metal objects. He grabbed a metal bar in the shape of a “u” with another metal tube of wider diameter in the middle of the bending attached to it.
“Open your contemptible slave gob!”
I obeyed, and he rammed the iron spigot into my mouth. My jaws were painfully stretched. I retched and moaned. The guard fastened the counterpart at he back of my head and pushed the pieces together firmly before screwing them down. I started drooling immediately. The contraption compressed the corners of my mouth in a excruciatingly painful way.
“It’s unbearable! And that’s just the beginning”, it shot through my mind.
The guard inspected his work and nodded with approval.
“You have besmirched the name of our wonderful country, slave. You and the other convicts. You don’t deserve the comfort of talking amongst yourselves to grieve about your fate.”
He looked at me with a sadistic expression that sent cold shivers through my body. I burst into tears while he continued talking.
“This gag will not come off again before we take your lifeless body from the cross. You’ve spoken your last intelligible words, slave. They were your slave registration number. How pathetic! How do you feel about that? This cruel torture device has already been in the mouths of dozens of worthless slaves like you when they took their last breaths. Do you taste their desperation? The physical pain from this device will increase by every minute. But, believe me, the psychological torture will be way worse.”
With these final words he pushed me inside the room to the other women, all mirror images of my misery. The door slammed shut behind me.
“Enjoy the rest of your life, vermin!” the guard shouted scornful.
The sobbing became louder and mixed with groaning. The two men turned and started to walk away.
“She had nice eyes. Well … I wonder who’s gonna win the game tonight. Let’s have a beer, mate.”
PART 1
The whole travesty of a court case didn’t take longer than a few minutes. Two guards had stormed into my cell; one of them grabbed a thick strand of my hair, wrapped it around his wrist several times, and pulled me up.
“Move it, slave!” he yelled and pushed me through the cell door and along the corridor.
The concrete floor felt icy under my naked feet. There had been no need for the second guard. I was naked, my hands were shacked close together in my back, connected to the chain between my feet shackles through another chain, just long enough to stand upright. We were in a high-security prison. Where would I even try to go? They could have just politely asked me to follow them and I would have obeyed. I knew what fate was waiting for me and I knew it was inescapable. That scratching of the chains on the floor reminded me with every step.
They led me into the “courtroom” which looked more like a decrepit classroom. The guard positioned my exposed body just in front of the desk of the fat and sleazy judge. The other guard gave him a scrap of paper. There were just a few words scribbled onto it. The judge didn’t even look up.
“This impertinent slave has tried to flee from our glorious country?”
He immediately slammed the big wooden hammer onto the desk. Its bang echoed through the almost empty room.
“Guilty! The slave is sentenced to death by crucifixion in accordance with the laws and common sense. The sentence will be carried out tomorrow. Next!”
Under different circumstances that might even have been funny. “In accordance with the laws and common sense”! They made up the law just as they needed to. But I didn’t have a lot of time to think about that. The guard pushed me through the building again, this time taking a different turn. Finally, I was dragged into a small bureau. It was empty. One of the guards sighed.
“Where’s lazybones? I want to get off work sometimes.”
He sighed again and kicked into the back of my knees.
“Waiting position, slave!”
I assumed the required position, kneeling up with my legs spread as widely as possible. The guards started to talk about a rugby match that was supposed to happen that evening. There were bits of residual glue on the back of the desk. As if stickers had been removed. It’s strange that this occupied my mind with less than a day left to live. Adhesive. Sports. Kneeling. Waiting in a smelly office. Willingly devoted to fate. Not exactly how I pictured my final hours a few years ago.
Shuffled steps came closer from the other side of the door.
“Finally!” the guard whispered.
A grey office drudge with a bored look on his face entered and nodded at the guards.
“We bring another convict. Attempt to escape. Death by crucifixion.”
The grey shape slowly opened a huge folder.
“Slave registration number?”
“4905-9268” I replied mechanically.
The clerk noted my number.
“Done”, he said to himself. He hadn’t even looked at me. “Take the convict to deathrow.”
The guard dragged me onto my feet again. I was pushed along more corridors and down a flight of stairs. I front of a sturdy metal door we had to wait for a while, then a buzzer went off and the door swept open. A room to the left was separated from the walkway only by bars. In the dim light I could perceive at least a dozen of women huddled on the floor, naked and in chains like me. There was the sound of stifled sobs and clinking chains.
One guard reached for a shelf with a jumble of metal objects. He grabbed a metal bar in the shape of a “u” with another metal tube of wider diameter in the middle of the bending attached to it.
“Open your contemptible slave gob!”
I obeyed, and he rammed the iron spigot into my mouth. My jaws were painfully stretched. I retched and moaned. The guard fastened the counterpart at he back of my head and pushed the pieces together firmly before screwing them down. I started drooling immediately. The contraption compressed the corners of my mouth in a excruciatingly painful way.
“It’s unbearable! And that’s just the beginning”, it shot through my mind.
The guard inspected his work and nodded with approval.
“You have besmirched the name of our wonderful country, slave. You and the other convicts. You don’t deserve the comfort of talking amongst yourselves to grieve about your fate.”
He looked at me with a sadistic expression that sent cold shivers through my body. I burst into tears while he continued talking.
“This gag will not come off again before we take your lifeless body from the cross. You’ve spoken your last intelligible words, slave. They were your slave registration number. How pathetic! How do you feel about that? This cruel torture device has already been in the mouths of dozens of worthless slaves like you when they took their last breaths. Do you taste their desperation? The physical pain from this device will increase by every minute. But, believe me, the psychological torture will be way worse.”
With these final words he pushed me inside the room to the other women, all mirror images of my misery. The door slammed shut behind me.
“Enjoy the rest of your life, vermin!” the guard shouted scornful.
The sobbing became louder and mixed with groaning. The two men turned and started to walk away.
“She had nice eyes. Well … I wonder who’s gonna win the game tonight. Let’s have a beer, mate.”
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