Mikaela
Why has fate frowned upon me?
At first glance, this place gives an appearance of being grand. Lined with red tapestries. Intricate patterns of wild game are embroidered in gold on the floor cushions. Move a tapestry aside and see this illusion for what it is, a wooden box filled with etchings. Others before me have scrawled their time on the walls, floors, only a few reached the ceiling.
I glance at the floor where I have been etching in my days. losing count of where mine started and the other women before me ended. I’ve had an internal war over my time spent here. The days creeping into weeks which now spanned into months. I feel as if I had been forgotten, myself no longer significant. This wooden prison is keeping me hidden, preventing others to find me.
The slight spaces in the upper planks are streaming in sunlight. Morning has come to greet for another day. The warmth of the morning bring the other products to wake up. Some are stretching and moving around, welcoming the morning. I feel a tinge of jealousy; I lost that privilege due to my last stunt at auction. I continue to stare out through the cracks from the side of the wooden caravan. I am not able to see much besides the dry ground and sagebrush. Nothing is standing out to me, nothing that gives me an idea of where I am. I hear the voices of the Auctioneers and I quickly cover the plank crack with a red tapestry. Their voices are loud and invasive, taking up the silence of the morning.
I attempt to readjust my position on the floor. I want to rub my wrists; they’ve been sore for a while. I wished that the numbness came back. They’re worried that I am unfit product now. Last time they told me that if I act up again I will be put down as if I were some mongrel. which is a funny thing to say. Its my breed that made me here is the first place. I dig my nails into the floor, picking at the panels. Looking around I can sense the mix emotions from the other products. The late bloomers hold onto each other; fearful of what will come. The seasoned ones begin to prep with each other, practicing their one of many talents. Then there is me, the exotic.
The caravan rolled to a stop. A tense feeling settled into the room. Some of the products were voluntarily sent here expecting to be sold to wealthy men. The others were either stolen or traded; these ones have their fate in the auctioneer's’ hands. The door opens and enters our auctioneer carrying an ensemble of bread and fruits, he greets us, “Good morning.”. Closing the door behind him, he sits down and spreads the morning ensemble of food. He takes a bread and begins to eat, encouraging the others to do so. After a few moments of silence, the auctioneer begins to speak, “We have a full schedule today. We are at a town with many merchants. Well to do merchants if I say so myself. If you do well today, you may be bought by one of them.” He speaks confidently, he makes it sound as if he is doing a service for us.
“Are you sure that they are wealthy? The last town was full of herders and farmers.” One of the seasoned ones spoke. Her hands were tattooed in patterns, her left hand was of the moon and the right hand of the sun. He threw his hands up graciously, “yes, yes, I assure you, very wealthy.” She raised up an eyebrow, determining if what he said was true. Deciding on letting it go she begins to check her nails, “Alright then.” I couldn’t help but chuckle. She shot me a look. I met her eyes and I saw the animosity she had towards me. She thinks that she has control. That is how seasoned ones are raised.
“Exotic, I hope that there will be no more incidents like last time?” He smiled at me. It was a lukewarm smile, the truth is behind that smile hid a threat. I replied with a lukewarm smile of my own. His eyes narrowed and his voice lost the softness from before, “Exotic?” I lifted up my hands showing my cuffs, “I can’t perform with these on, now can I?”
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