Page 53 of Harmless
I was thinner, paler, unsurprisingly. The musculature I’d once been proud of was gone now, atrophied from lack of use. My tattoos however, were vibrant and stark. Maybe I’d become so pale and sickly that the ink stood out more because of the contrast. I’d forgotten they were there, and looking at them now on my arms, legs, and chest was like finding a photo album of my life from years ago.
The nostalgic memories came flooding, and with them came a physical ache behind my sternum. I wasn’t even a person anymore. I couldn’t tell some woman to get the fuck off me, let alone choose to put some ink in my skin.
This body used to be mine, and I’d decorated it and worked it out with pride. I used to walk around with my shirt off so I’d get looks and questions about my tattoos. I used to have sex because I was attracted to someone and wanted to feel good. I used to eat whatever the fuck I wanted and sometimes drank too much. Because I was hungry and I wanted to party. Whatever I did was because I just fuckingwantedto.
Now…I no longer belonged to myself.
I was nothing.
I was a means to an end with lungs, a heartbeat, and a wish that they would shoot me with one of those rifles.
All too soon, my shower ended.
I dried off with a folded-up towel that was left on top of the toilet lid. Underneath the towel was a change of clothes. Just a pair of loose pants and matching long-sleeved shirt that reminded me of a prison outfit.
A metallic tapping came from the other side of the door. “One minute to get dressed,” called the armed woman who had ordered me around earlier.
This whole going-out, shower-and-fresh-clothes thing was curious, now that I was thinking about it. It almost seemed like I was being prepared for something. Were they finally going to kill me?
As bright as that thought was, it didn’t seem likely that I’d be under so many armed guards if that were the case. Why not just shoot me in my bed?
“Are you dressed?” called the woman through the door. It was almost funny. For as much they liked keeping me prisoner for what I had stored in my balls, they sure didn’t want to see me naked.
“Yes,” I answered, my voice raspy from lack of use.
“You will be shot if you are lying.”
Damn, missed opportunity there.
The door opened, and I was escorted out by my armed detail of serious, stone-faced women. The one in charge led the way out the bedroom door and up a short flight of stairs to a hallway that opened up into a kitchen and dining room. So it was the basement of a small house I’d been kept in, essentially a cottage.
I was led out the front door, and I blinked in the harsh sunlight. Holy shit, when was the last time I’d been truly outside? Looking around, I tried not to let my steps falter as I took in my surroundings.
There were rows of small cottages, all lined neatly along this path my escorts were taking me. Some houses were fairly plain, others were painted bright colors or decorated with gardens. As we continued walking, we passed a larger, fenced-in garden on the right side. Some women harvested fruit and vegetables while others appeared to be propagating or tilling soil.
Everyone stopped and looked when we passed.
I caught the eyes of one woman standing in front of her house with a chubby toddler on her hip. The pink bow in the child’s hair indicated she was a girl. And that woman had come to use me many, many times.
My next breath got stuck in my chest and I nearly coughed, my eyes unable to tear away from the woman’s child,mychild, unless there was another poor bastard here in the same position as me.
A rifle barrel jabbed me in the back, and I stumbled forward. “Keep walking,” came the command from behind me.
I continued my walk with my head down, my stomach churning with nausea. I had known what they were using me for, knew what the results would be. But I had never seen those results with my own eyes before. Never seen eyes that looked exactly like mine staring back at me.
A cold sweat started breaking over my skin as it all started hitting me at once. There had been so many of them. Nearly every single day. For what felt like an eternity. That child looked about a year old, so how many…
I clutched at my near-empty stomach, my steps faltering. Two rifle barrels pressed into my back now, digging under my shoulder blades to keep me upright.
“You are being brought before the Dark Mother,” one of the women hissed at me. “Show some respect.”
The what-now?
I concentrated on moving my feet as we wound through the houses, while more women came to watch from their front doors. Some were heavily pregnant or had young children. Others were alone or had older children, I estimated about ten or twelve years old.
All of the kids were girls.
Some math wasn’t adding up. Where were the boys?
