Enslaved to Zion

Chapter 4

The blood pulsing through me freezes upon seeing the ugly man in the doorway. Now is not the time to make a run for it, though the thought briefly flashes through my mind. As though somehow sensing the possibility of my resistence, the woman who had given me water and helped me to dress, comes close to me. Her trembling hands reach out to tidy some stray hairs that the older woman seems to have missed before. Hardly audible even to my own ears, she leans in and whispers to me, her voice shaking with fear.

"Go now. Don't fight back, whatever you do. It will only make things more difficult for you."

She steps away, without another word, only giving me a nudge from behind to coax me forward. Having grown impatient, the gruff man huffs into the room and grabs me, clamping down heavy metal cuffs onto my wrists. He yanks me so hard that I nearly fall into him, but he stops me short and attaches a chain to my cuffs. They're so heavy that I feel like I'm going to drop to the floor with a clank if he gives the chain any slack. Standing with my knees pressed firmly together, I use all my might to erase any signs of fear from my face. After one last look at the women, I bite my bottom lip and inhale deeply, determined to be strong, no matter what awaits me.

I'm my father's daughter after all and going to make him proud! I turn back to the door, back to face my unknown future, and am led down a dark corridor. Could this be a tunnel? Have I been underground this whole time? No wonder it was so cold. That also explains the lack of windows. As I walk on, we pass by many doors, some with dim lights coming from the other side, some with only darkness peeking out from their crevices. One in particular appears to be oozing a deep colored fluid and I divert my gaze to avoid discerning it's true color. I don't want to see what it is. Who knows what kind of horrors are taking place behind these doors?

After what seems like an eternity of walking down a dark, eerie corridor, I see a little square of light peeping out from what appears to be bars on a steel door. It opens slowly as we draw near and I'm temporarily blinded by harsh sunlight, enveloping my face. We are now outside and the open air is warm on my previously chilled body. I hear voices. Many, many voices. As we climb a series of wooden steps and near the top, a man's voice rings out through a system of strange boxes. He talks so fast and loudly that it's difficult to understand what he's saying.

"We've got something special coming up, folks! Next on the auction block, we have us a rare blue eye!"

A rare blue eye? Ah! That's right... I forgot that my kind have practically died out. Father once told me that brown eyes are stronger than blue eyes in the blood and because of that, there are only a few people like me left in the world. My mother was a blue eye too, the only other he had ever seen. But why does that have to be my selling point? My blue eyes are such a small piece of who I am. This is so unfair! Don't they care that I have thoughts and feelings? Don't they want to know the work I'm capable of or what I can bring to the table? Do they not even consider me human?

"That's right folks! Not just a blue eye, but a real pretty one! She's been evaluated and she's also a bonafide virgin!"

What does he mean by that? Bonafide... Nothing makes sense! I'm terrified at this point and I feel my breaths growing shorter, my heart beating at a rapid pace. The crowd gets louder and I want to turn around and run. But I know there's no way out the way I came. I have to go out there. It's my only chance at escape. All I need is a plan, just one chance. Where there's a will, there's a way, and if there's a way, I'm going to find it! I just have to keep my cool and my head clear. When my opportunity arises, I'll take it.

"Are ya ready, folks? Here she is!", the announcer yells, and I'm pulled up the final step, onto a stage.

I feel like I've been punched in the chest and my heart sinks all the way down into my toes. Looking out at the crowd, I can't believe how many people are out there. Rows upon rows of faceless bodies line the whole place. Nothing but walls of people create a blockade, cutting me off from the open world, from freedom. There's no way out in sight. I feel like a pig being sent to slaughter as buyers fight over what price they're willing to pay for the cut they want. Is this truly my cruel fate?

Before I realize what's going on, the chain attached to my wrists is hooked onto a pulley. A vicious clanking pulls my attention and my arms begin to rise above my head. I panic and try to pull away, but it's in vain. My feet barely touch the creaky wooden floor when the terrible sound stops, and thankfully, once the machine ceases to tighten and the chain relaxes a bit, I'm given just enough slack to allow my shoulders to stop being pulled out of their sockets. Still, the situation is dire. I'm stuck here, with nowhere to go.

"Watch out! This one's feisty!", the loud man says. "She's 5'3" and 108 pounds. We couldn't verify, but she appears to be around 18 years of age. You'll get your money worth out of her for sure! That's right, ladies and gentlemen! She'll be useful for a good, long time!"

The crowd begins to cheer again and this time, the fast talking man comes over and roughly spins me around. He whistles sharply, my back now facing the audience, and then he whips me back around, where a large bright light now shines on my face. He reaches for my neck and I jerk away as much as I can while he laughs and turns to face the crowd. With a stiff grin planted on his face, he grabs my cheeks with force, and with his other hand, he pulls my hair, forcing my head back.

"Technical difficulty, folks!", he jests. "Would you just take a look at those lips! And those eyes! Wow, just wow, folks!"

I yelp in pain and the crowd only gets louder. They're enjoying this. These people are getting satisfaction out of my pain. How insane! These people are sick!

"We'll start the bidding at 15,000! Do I hear a 16,000?"

"16,000!", yells a faceless voice in the crowd.

"$17,000!", screams another.

How are there so many people who think that this is okay? Where do they all come from? The voices keep coming, one after another. 20,000. 25,000. 30,000. Then the bids start to come more slowly. Suddenly, a new voice calls out, breaking the bidding sequence.

"300,000."

Where the other voices are excited shouts and desperate bids, this voice is more of a calm declaration. This voice is different. There is no urgency, no emotion in it. It isn't hopeful or demanding. It's matter of fact. It's decisive. Unlike the other bidders, this low, steady voice puts in his bid as if he doesn't care whether or not he can even be heard by anyone but the announcer. And yet, that voice commands the attention of everyone around. The whole world stops for that voice, and the crowd goes silent.

"300... 300,000! Wow, folks! Do you hear that? We've got a real high bidder here! Do I hear a 301,000?"

The air fills with whispers but nobody else calls out a bid.

"Are you sure? Alrighty then! 300,000 going once, 300,000 going twice, sold for 300,000 symbals to number 37!", says the quick talking man as the crowd meekly begins to cheer once again before returning to a full roar.

So this is what my life amounts to. Everything I've ever done, all my hopes and dreams, everything I've cared about only amounts to this. All that I am is someone else's property now. I can't stand the thought of never running wild and barefoot through the open fields of bluebells or barley again. Will I ever again get the chance to paint the sunrise on the pond under the willow? The tears start flowing, their supply seemingly restored by the drink of water I wish I had savored just a little longer. Now what? Where do I go from here?

Heavens, please guide me out of this forsaken underworld I've found myself in!