The Hands of Death

Chapter 2

It was past sunset, the fields were quiet, and the blood seeping from my body matched the scarlet red of the sky. We were not allowed to talk, not unless it was completely necessary. After my lashings, I wasn't given a break or a bandage - nothing. I was put back to work as if nothing had happened. Everyone ignored my oozing back and pretended not to see me wince each time I bent down. If they were caught sympathising, the same fate would be theirs.
The unmistakable peal of The Clock rang throughout the clearing. We all reluctantly lifted our heads up and headed back home, knowing we were safer out here.
I stumbled towards my home, stopping at the door, hesitating before turning the knob.
Inside, it was as empty and unwelcoming as the fields. I gently shut the door behind me, slowly sliding down the wall, unwanted tears flowing from my face.
Running my hands through my hair, I remembered the pain I felt from the sting of the whip. I remembered the grumbling of my hungry stomach, and the dryness of my throat. I remembered the Minutes taking away the thing I loved most. I remembered everything I didn't want to.

~~~

When I finally awoke, I heard the rumble of thunder. I quickly got up from where I had fallen asleep against the wall. Remembering too late that my injuries should have been cleaned and sanitised to prevent the spread of infection, I assessed them and immediately regretted it. The skin was shredded and lay in pieces around the deep cuts that peppered my body in a random frenzy. I gulped, that would take a while to heal, but it would - eventually.
Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the room for a brief second. There were no lights in the town. We arose at dawn and slept at dusk, we didn't need light. Theoretically I should be asleep right now. It wasn't a good idea to disobey the rules. At any moment, a Minute could realise I was not asleep. I had already messed up today, I couldn't afford to do it again.
Silently, I crawled over to my bed. It wasn't far. Our 'houses' were no more than round huts, with the bare minimum of space and no more. We had a hard mattress, one sheet and a bucket. There were no personal items - every home was the same. I could walk next door and it would be identical to my house.
The only difference was the vertical clock painted on the door. It read 3 hours, 10 minutes and 47 seconds. At least mine did.
Everyone else had a different amount of seconds that corresponded with their number. First line was hours, second was minutes and right at the bottom, beneath both of them, was the seconds.
It was a constant reminder of our place. We came last.
Food was placed outside our door at certain times. Dawn brought two slices of seeded bread with just enough butter and with one water bottle to last the day. If you ran out - too bad, you wouldn't get another and sharing resulted in punishment.
Lunch was at noon precisely, with the same seeded bread as breakfast and a slice of corned beef. By the time you returned home, a soup would be placed outside the door. Sometimes you'd be lucky and the mug would still be steaming and warm to the touch, other times you would have to force yourself to drink the cold mixture.
The meals didn't change. They provided us with just the right nutrition to survive and no more. Just like with the houses. The Clock probably thought we'd begin to think of ourselves as important if we were given more than required.
It was then I remembered that I had completely forgotten about my soup and had left it outside.
My heart begin beating faster, if I got it now the Minutes would notice my open door but if I didn't get it - I could get in even more trouble tomorrow.
We did what we were told and that included eating our meals. They needed us to be able to work. A flicker of satisfaction went through my body—they needed us. It only lasted a second before disappearing. And just like that I came back to reality... the soup.