"Daphne! Daphne!" The voice filtered through the haze of sleepiness that surrounded her consciousness. A soft groan erupted from her lips as her body slowly shook itself awake. There was no light to bother her eyes when they finally opened as there was no light at all in the dank, musty warehouse where they slept. There were about twenty figures surrounding her, some shuffled in corners, some grouped together, some alone. Most huddled together for warmth, and the ones on the outskirts shot poison barb stares at the group, shivering alone. Fourteen girls and five boys, from what her eyes could make out in this light- they’d lost a girl again. The voice that had woken her was attached to a pair of wide, innocent eyes. She was no more than thirteen. Pain flooded her, but it wasn’t sentimentality. It was her wrist, they’d been too rough, too forceful, and nearly broken it. In truth, it was probably broken, but it would do her no good to think of it in that manner. Better almost broken than truly broken.
"Layla… Calm down, please, don’t wake the others." Daphne muttered, pulling the smaller girl in for a hug, both for comfort and to silence her sniffles. "What happened?"
"I just got… b-back. They might be taking me… taking me somewhere new. A transfer they said. A transfer of owner… ownership." Tears bubbled to the surface of the girl’s eyes, but Daphne wiped them away. Layla was the smallest girl there, not just in age or stature, but in voice and spirit. She would be utterly gone if Daphne hadn’t taken her in.
"Shh, baby. Breathe for me, alright? If it’s a transfer of ownership… someone might be interested in…buying you. You know, permanently. And then you’ll be out of here, right?”
"B-b-but I don’t…I don’t wanna go, Daphy. I don’t wanna leave." Sobs hiccuped out of her, her entire small body shaking.
"I know. But..it could be a better place than here is. You’ve heard the stories. Some of these men are rich beyond your wildest dreams, Layla. It’s going to be okay." Daphne knew she was simply spinning cotton candy dreams for the child, but she needed to make sure that Layla didn’t wake the others or the guards. That would end badly for all involved. And there were some men who bought off girls, or boys, so that they could free them.
But not many. The older girl sighed softly as Layla collapsed in her arms, the arms that bore imprints of days past. Lying back down, she curled her thin body around the child, pulling a blanket over them. Soon enough, the girl’s breathing turned steady as she drifted off into blissful slumber.
Lying there, her thoughts soon turned to the best possible fate- freedom. But Daphne knew that, for her, freedom wouldn’t do her any good. Where would she go? Her family was gone, not that she missed them, but she wasn’t even sure that she knew her own last name correctly. It’d been two years in that hole. Two years of pure and utter hell. But was it really any worse than what she’d faced at home? At least here she had others to bond with. At least here there were hot meals twice a day. At least here there was some measure of freedom.
But here… her body did not belong to her. Here, she belonged to someone else. Here, she could be given out to any number of men. And sometimes women.
Her mind turned these thoughts over and over, weighing her childhood over her teenage years, as her eyes slowly fluttered shut, her body protecting the young child in her arms.
She never saw Layla again.
Weeks past. Or was it days? Or was it months, or even years? Daphne didn’t know. How could she? There were so few times that her body saw daylight that her skin was alabaster pale, her dark hair making her look like a creature of the night. Fresh air was provided to the group, but only at night. Only under the cover of night did Daphne ever see the world. She was never loaned out long enough for her to spend the night. The man in charge of all of the incoming children (and that’s what they were, they were children, even if they were 17 or 18- they were still children) had taken a liking to her. Soft touches were consistently given by this man, but they always turned into rage or violence, his mental stability just as low as Daphne’s, and that was saying something. Sometimes, when it was a good day, her mind turned to this man’s past. Who was he before he was a monster? What sort of childhood brought up someone like him? And could she ever turn out like him? She didn’t think so, but how could she be sure? It all depended on the situation.
As time dragged on, Daphne changed drastically, yet it was over such a long stretch of time that it was hard to tell. But she knew that those who she had known during her childhood (and she considered anytime before she was here her childhood, she had to grow up to survive) wouldn’t even recognize her at this point. She had become someone she barely even recognized, her stance haughty and proud, her lips only moving to form the occasional smirk or sneer, her eyes empty and dead. No more did she fawn over the younger ones, no more did she pull them to her chest in comfort, no more did she even care. No more did she cry at nights, she’d used her lifetime supply of tears, it seemed. Her tear ducts were sandy deserts now. Fighting back became a source of enjoyment for her, as the pain inflicted barely did anything to her already broken body.
And it was then that Daphne became aware of how broken she was, and accepted it. No longer did she hold onto her last bit of sanity, no longer did she hold onto the notion that she could be saved. Because she couldn’t. Being saved was a child’s fantasy, and a bitter chuckle erupted every time she heard a newbie mention escape.
Once, a group near here was whispering excitedly about the prospect of staging a rebellion, there were more of them than there were guards, they figured. A hysterical laugh bubbled out of her cracked lips as the group’s scared faces spun in her direction.
"Oh, my sweet darlings. You truly think that that would be in any way possible? You think you’re the first group of little resisters, with stars in their eyes and the breath of fresh, open air still sticking pungently to their skin? You’re not the first, and of course, you won’t be the last. But trust me. The only way escape is possible is through death." She could sense their fear, almost taste it on her tongue. "Three options, loves. You stay here until you get too old and then they kill you, you get transferred to another one of these hell holes or get bought, or…" She ticked the options off on her fingers, and she grinned impishly as she got to the third. "You kill yourself. And staging a rebellion falls under the third option, yes. Because unlike actual slaves, back in the day, we are worth little to nothing to these men. Open your eyes, little ones." One of the boys must have been at least 18, older than her by a long shot, but he was still little, inexperienced, naive. "You’re not getting out of here, unless you get bought by a fancy man or woman in a fancy house and live out the little time you have left fulfilling their every wish and…desire." The words flowed off her tongue as if she was enjoying them, savoring their taste. "So, listen. Stop your idealistic plans and ideas and just keep your heads down and pray to get bought. Pray you don’t catch the eye of anyone in charge, and you’ll live just a little longer. But it’s only prolonging the inevitable. All of you will die before you reach true adulthood. Forever young." She whispered, staring them down. "Isn’t that everyone’s dream? So why don’t you quit your yapping, shut up, and let the rest of us sleep."
Turning away from them, she felt her eyes trying to cry, felt what was left of who she was before begging her to keep fighting, to not give up. But she had. Daphne Garner was a shell of a human being who believed her life was going to be played out in a damp, dirty warehouse.
Little did she know, things were going to get much, much worse, before they could even start to get better.
andulkaphoto
yousharknotpass
2087
pixelskylines
dededos
prguitarman
