spoken word. (gxg)

twenty-eight

twenty-eight.

I was wiped and changed once more, the maid's face impassive at the blood staining the gown I had been wearing.

I stopped trying to fight her, though I hadn't put up much of a struggle in the first place. Self-loathing grew within me at every apathetic thought I garnered. I couldn't seem to muster the will to resist-- even if I managed to escape the cage I would be apprehended anyway.

My mind flashed back to the day I had been assaulted. Then, too, I froze and was unable to move. Only when the situation became dire did I scream.

How useless.

If I had been more careful, would I even be in this situation? It was the type of scenario you heard about all the time. Bad guy in the back seat.

I wasn't the protagonist of some novel-- how could I possibly fight back in this sort of situation? No one was there to listen to my wails. If I tore off one man another bruising grip would replace his. I was one girl, a high school student, with no training at all.

Men entered the room, and I turned my eyes downward, unable to take anymore dehumanizing stares-- like I was meat, or maybe permanent eye candy. A sliding sound, like cloth, resounded and darkness closed in. The cage I was trapped inside of jostled, throwing me against the side. I flinched as I hit the cool steel. A few moments passed, and the mechanical whir of an engine clued me in.

I was being transported. But where? Fear set in as I realized the last memory I could ever have of June would be her amber eyes, staring back at mine in panic as I lashed out.

June. I clung to the image of her in my mind. I was no hero, but the least I could do for June was keep hope. No matter where I went, I would find my way back somehow.

...

They had stuck a needle in my arm sometime after we stopped moving. When I awoke, blearily, it was to stinging lights and raucous chatter. I examined my surroundings, heart pounding as I realized where I was.

An arena... no, a fighting ring, filled to the brim with cheering spectators and bloodied fighters. The noise made my ears, sensitive from the drug, ring.

I was no longed caged like a bird, but my hands and feet were bound painfully. I was on the ground in some sort of small room, elevated from the masses and enclosed. Beside me was the man, Alpha, and a few other guys who were almost comically muscular. I say almost comically because I was about ready to pee my pants, and not from laughter.

A deep voice rung out, and the crowds quieted. In the middle of the ring was a large troll-like figure with a microphone, speaking to riveted crowds. My delirious mind tried to follow his words, but I was unable to process most of it. What I did catch was that a competition was being held; the winner would receive a prize. Lots of cheering at that.

It was then that the man motioned to a large screen with a picture of me, in fine clothes that they had dressed me in, bound and unconscious. My stomach dropped, nausea gripping me.

Oh. Oh.

I glared at all of the cheering people. How messed up did you have to be to support this kind of thing? Call me naive, but I didn't even realize human trafficking still existed.

I'm sorry, June, I'm really trying hard with this whole 'hope' thing, but it doesn't look too good for me. I wondered which God would be more likely to answer a prayer. The Christian God, perhaps, or maybe some sort of Greek god. I wracked my brain. Ares was the God of war, right?