The air buzzed with nervous excitement as the group of teenagers gathered under the scorching sun.
"Water signs are said to possess the most powerful animals," a fellow chirped, his voice brimming with enthusiasm as he proudly displayed his necklace. His words were lost on me, my attention fixated on the ground where I aimlessly drew with a tiny stick. The final stage of the constellation under the sun loomed – Branding .
A few had already been branded, their signs etched permanently onto their arms. Each sign had a designated spot on the body for its mark. Once branded, a new attire was handed out, signifying their new status.
"Noman Angel?" My eyes snapped up, meeting the gaze of a man in a grey robe. "Your turn."
I rose, brushing sand off my backside as I followed him into a room with a massive, imposing door. The air hung heavy with the smell of burnt flesh, a stark reminder of the ritual awaiting me. Four metal rods, glowing a menacing red at their tips, stood before me. No wonder the doors were made so thick, I thought, to muffle the screams .
"Your necklace," the man commanded, extending his hand. I reluctantly removed the necklace and handed it to him. His eyes widened slightly as he inspected it. "It's empty?"
Shame washed over me. Of all of us, only my necklace remained blank. "I'm sick," I confessed, my voice barely a whisper. "My constellation can't show when I'm this sick, sir."
He studied me for a moment, his dark gaze lingering on my face before settling on the back of the necklace. His finger gently caressed its smooth surface. "Constellation has nothing to do with your health," he stated, his voice laced with a chilling certainty .
"I'm told my sickle cell is generating rapidly—" I began, but he cut me off, turning away and walking to his chair.
He sat down, his finger still tracing the empty space on my necklace. "I might be wrong," he said, his voice a low murmur. He raised his hand, holding the necklace towards me. "No branding? Your lucky day." He chuckled, but his eyes held a sinister glint as he observed the fear creeping onto my face.
No branding meant stoning to death .
As if reading my thoughts, he cleared his throat and spoke again. "Stoning him to death wasn't our decision, he made that call to stop his shame." His gaze held mine, a strange intensity in his eyes. "I'll suggest you do the same."
My silence was a deafening response. He pointed to a pile of clothes hanging across the room and a small room for changing. I walked towards the door, the weight of his words pressing down on me. As I stepped outside, I saw him still holding up my necklace, a mocking reminder of my predicament .
Later that night, I couldn't escape the sense of distance Aunt Martha maintained. I hadn't eaten anything all day, but the hunger paled in comparison to the gnawing anxiety in my gut. A knock on the door startled me, and Aunt Martha entered, carrying a tray of food. She offered an apologetic smile, her eyes filled with regret .
"I made you your favorites," she said, setting the tray down and spreading out the contents. "I know it's not your fault, and I should've been supportive and helpful in your situation. It's just… since Micheal die-" A tear escaped her eye, and she quickly wiped it away, trying to regain her composure. "Don't mind me, enjoy your meal." She placed a kiss on my cheek, and for a moment, my worries seemed to melt away .
She left the room, and I was left alone with the tray of food. She rarely spoke about Michael, her adopted child, but I knew he had passed away before I was born. It must have been incredibly painful for her, especially since she was barren .
I ate the food, a wave of contentment washing over me. I hadn't eaten properly in days, my mind consumed by the events of the day. A gentle breeze brushed through the room, and my eyelids grew heavy. Yawning, I glanced at the clock. It was almost 10 pm. I let my eyes close, succumbing to the exhaustion that had been building for days .
I dreamed of a chicken invasion, a bizarre reflection of my recent obsession with staging Uncle Paul's fowls to fight, a desperate attempt to kill boredom. But it was clear that my mental health was suffering.
"Hiss..." A whisper, barely audible, pierced my dream.
"Goddamnit!" A groan followed, and I tried to move, but my body felt like a limp marionette, swaying in the air. My mind struggled to regain its grip, my eyes seemed veiled by a thick, suffocating cloth. The cloth also partially covered my ears, muffling the sounds around me .
The throbbing pulse in my temples betrayed the fact that I was being carried upside down. A surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins, igniting a chaotic storm in my mind. A floral scent, a stark contrast to the metallic perfumes I was accustomed to, filled my nostrils. The heavy footsteps and the iron grip around my waist spoke volumes about the imposing physique of my captor. The thought of resisting was as futile as swimming against a tidal wave .
The stranger paused, and the world began to spin. A muffled voice, distant and distorted, pierced the silence, but the words were lost in the cacophony of my racing thoughts.
"Yeah, they're off the debt. But only mark it paid off when we're done," the stranger growled, resuming their grim procession .
A wave of nausea washed over me, threatening to consume me entirely. The heavy clang of a metal door echoed through the air, and I was unceremoniously dumped onto a cold, hard surface. "You can remove the cloth now," the stranger commanded, loosening the ropes around my arms and securing the door with a satisfying click .
I tore the fabric away, gasping for air. My heart pounded like a war drum, threatening to burst through my ribcage. As my vision cleared, I caught sight of the stranger's short, red hair and piercing dark eyes. A woman. She regarded me with a cold, calculating gaze, her expression devoid of any emotion.
"Good, you're not dead," she muttered to herself before turning and leaving the room .
The heavy door clanged shut, plunging me into darkness. As dim light filtered in, I realized I was trapped in a cage. A cage. The word echoed in my mind, a chilling reminder of my predicament. Across from me, in another cage, a woman watched me with weary eyes. She was bruised and battered, a testament to the horrors she had endured .
"They sent Krystal after you," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "You're lucky."
I turned to her, my mind reeling. "Where is this place?" I asked, my voice barely audible. "What is this place?"
She offered a weak smile. "Welcome to the caged-hood," she chuckled, her voice laced with irony. "We're in a holding pen, a temporary prison before the main event. You were lucky to arrive when you did. Another night here, and I doubt I'd have made it."
"Holding pen?" I repeated, my mind struggling to comprehend.
"A waiting room for the show," she explained, leaning back against the cold metal bars. "They take a dozen of us at a time, and you just happened to be number twelve. Lucky you." She paused, her gaze distant. "I'm Linda."
"Noman," I replied.
"What's your crime?" she asked abruptly. "No offense, but you seem thirteen-ish. I'm here because I thought I could outsmart them. Silly me."
I nodded, lost for words. "I don't know, to be honest."
Linda chuckled dryly. "Family betrayal?"
"Something like that," I mumbled, my fingers nervously twisting. I glanced at the other cages, filled with silent, suffering people. "It could be a friend's betrayal, you know?" I was trying to convince myself that Aunt Martha and Uncle Paul wouldn't do something like this.
She shook her head. "Nah, they wouldn't take someone under eighteen for a friend's betrayal. If they would, I wouldn't be here." She leaned back, her expression grim. "Trust me."
"So... where are they taking us?" I asked, turning to Linda .
"The branding house, I think. That's what they told me when I first arrived. As the thirteenth, I was left behind to join the next batch," she replied, her gaze drifting into the distance. "After that, it's the auction arena, I suppose." She shrugged, her indifference masking a deeper fear .
"Surely they can't brand someone who's branded already, right?" I asked, feeling a surge of nervous energy.
"There's no rule here, they would do you what they please." Sorrow laced her voice.
"How long have you been here?" I inquired, my voice barely a whisper .
She gave me a knowing look. "About a month. And let me tell you, there's no escape. I've tried, believe me. You'll only end up scarred and electrocuted." My eyes, wide with horror, fixed on her cage. She rolled her eyes. "I get two hours of freedom at night, so I take advantage of it."
A wave of despair washed over me. I couldn't fathom the horrors that awaited us.
"You're handling this well," she observed. "A good sign for your survival." I forced a smile, trying to hide my growing fear. She was barely older than me, yet she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders .
A sudden, jarring noise shattered the silence. "And that's it," Linda sighed, pulling away from the bars. "My time's up." She followed my gaze to the bars. I couldn't help but wonder if it was really safe. "It's not," she confirmed, reading my mind. "Those men are monsters, devoid of empathy. One wrong move, and you're a dead man walking."
She curled up in her cage, a picture of resignation. As the darkness enveloped us, I felt a chill creep down my spine. The heavy metal door creaked open, and a group of burly men, clad in leather, emerged from the shadows. "Turn on the lights, Krystal," a gruff voice commanded. "Round up the girls."
The harsh light blinded me, forcing me to shield my eyes. I heard the soft whimpers of the women as they were dragged from their cages, while the few boys remained calm. When my turn came, I complied without protest. I flinched as one of the men fastened a cuff around my wrist. The women seemed resigned to their fate, and I knew I had to do the same .
"Move it!" the leader barked, urging us forward. I noticed a few women shivering in their thin clothing. Thankfully, I had my shirt.
"Take that off!" My heart pounded in my chest as the man approached. I reluctantly removed the shirt, feeling a sudden chill. He reapplied the cuff, his touch cold and impersonal. "Into the van!" he ordered .
I followed the others into the large, ominous vehicle. Linda was already inside, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and defiance. Krystal and another man joined us in the back, their presence a constant reminder of our captivity. The ride was a blur of jolts and bumps. As the van finally came to a halt, I felt a surge of dread.
"Move it!" the guard barked, his voice echoing through the dilapidated building. The women cowered, their fear palpable. I was dragged into the gloomy building , my bare feet scraping against the rough concrete floor. The sounds of metal being hammered and muffled screams filled the air, sending shivers down my spine .
We reached a heavy, iron-bound door. With a grunt, Krystal unlocked it, revealing a scene straight out of a nightmare.
"New batch!" a burly man with a missing tooth grinned, wielding a hammer and a glowing red metal rod.
"Not for you, Sean," Krystal retorted, leading us past the grotesque spectacle .
A grotesque woman sat behind a cluttered desk, her attention focused on a cigarette. "They're yours, Miss Cooper," Krystal announced, tossing a set of keys onto the desk. "Get them ready in an hour. And dye his hair blonde," she pointed at me. "More marketable that way. Too much debt on his head." With that, she turned and left .
Miss Cooper scoffed, taking a long drag from her cigarette. After a moment, she extinguished it and stood up, her gaze sweeping over us. "Better than the last batch," she muttered. "Follow me." We trailed behind her to a filthy bathroom, guarded by two menacing men .
"After you're uncuffed, shower and change into one of those clothes," she instructed, pointing at a pile of identical white garments for the ladies then grey sleeves and white pants for the boys. I watched as the other women were uncuffed, their fear and vulnerability visible. "You're coming with me," Miss Cooper said, pulling me aside .
She led me to a dimly lit room on the corner. "Sit," she commanded, gesturing to a worn wooden chair.
I sat, my heart pounding in my chest. As she mixed a strange concoction, I couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom.
"Done," she announced, applying the dye to my hair.
The burning sensation was intense, but I didn't dare complain.
"Wait a few minutes before washing it out," she instructed, restraining my hand as I reached for my head.
Returning to the bathroom, I found the other people almost ready. Linda, her eyes filled with fear lingering at my hair, nodded at me.
"The shower's free," she whispered, a grim smile playing on her lips.
I thanked her and stepped into the shower, the warm water soothing my aching body.
After a few minutes, we were herded into a waiting room. A tattooed man approached Miss Cooper.
"Mr. B is ready," he announced.
"Alright, people," Miss Cooper said, her voice sharp. "You'll go in one by one and follow the instructions. Remember, one wrong move, and you'll pay the price."
Linda leaned in. "We're about to be branded. That's what the 'B' stands for, right?"
I shook my head, unsure of the answer.
The first lady, a trembling mass of nerves, stepped into the room. A blood-curdling scream echoed through the room, followed by a chilling silence. One by one, the women disappeared into the room follows by the boys, each replaced by a horrifying silence.
My turn arrived. I took a deep breath and entered the dimly lit room. A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness.
"Sit," he commanded.
I sat, my heart pounding like a drum. The figure moved towards me, a pair of glowing red rods in hand.
"Place your hand here," he ordered, pointing to a metal box.
I complied, and the box clamped down on my arm, securing it in place.
The figure raised the rods, their intense heat searing my skin. A piercing scream escaped my lips as the branding iron seared my flesh. The pain was excruciating, a fiery agony that threatened to consume me.
When the ordeal was finally over, I was left reeling, my arm throbbing and raw. The figure gestured towards a door.
With trembling steps, I walked through the doorway, the memory of the branding seared into my mind with the smell of my burning flesh.