Most of us long to "Be" but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we "Have." Remove the trappings of what we own, and then what is the sum of us?
They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in...
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How long had he been here? Days, weeks, months? His numbed mind knew not. The white hot light suddenly blinding from above, eyes so used to the subtleties of the dark, they now commanded him to curl against the wall covering his face in the shadows, unable to bear the searing brightness. Hollow, hungry, and weak, he was, a mere husk of what he had been all those weeks before. Caring little what his fate would be, his body numbed to all manner of privation.
Bennett peered down at his handiwork, finding at once his resolve to finish off the object of his erotic desires somewhat easier than he had guessed. Gone was the attractive young man of his imaginings. Instead the sight of the prisoner disgusted him, thin, filthy, clad in rags, covered in ulcerated sores, wallowing in his own filth. No this would not be so hard after all. "Go get him, you!" Bennett gestured to Marcus. As a ladder was lowered into the pit's hellish depths.
Sven stood a respectful distance behind, sensitive to his friend's need for space at this moment. Yet there to back him up, standing silently as he often did, understanding that today was a culmination of his mate's agonized decision to finally lay his unhealthy obsession to rest. Sven had waited patiently for this, inside just wanting to smile, finding it difficult to maintain the respectful stoicism that was required of him at this moment. As he stood some feet away, eyes on the pathetic scrap of a man soon to meet his maker.
Carlos could barely stand, though he was commanded to do so, receiving plentiful punches and kicks to encourage him obey. Mercifully a hessian sack was thrown over his head blocking some of the light, his irritated eyes copiously watering, he could visualize nothing at all. Still through his dimmed senses he registered Bennett's presence, close by, menacing at his back.
Someone cable-tied his hands behind him, the bonds biting hard into his wrists, swiftly numbing any sensation in his hands. He swayed and almost fell, disoriented and weak, his only wish was to just lie down. Instead he was held upright by strong impersonal hands, as his every muscle shook with screaming fatigue. He did not care anymore what would happen to him, and put up no fight. Bennett could do his worst, he was weary of this life, abandoned, unloved, fighting for each day, tired of being a mere slave and sexual toy.
"Bring him."
Issued forth that ever familiar, hated voice of his tormentor. Abruptly he was pushed forward on legs that could barely carry him, all his stamina gone. Still the heavy hands on him urged him ever forward, toward his unknown destination, unmindful of his exhaustion or discomfort. Carlos had no grasp of time or distance, they may have walked just a few feet, or perhaps a mile, his mind was wandering, events blurred and disjointed in his reason, nothing seemed real to him anymore.
"Here!"
Was all he heard, as the commanding hands let him mercifully slump toward the earth. The warm sand feeling soft and comfortable to his sun starved flesh, his weary, sickened, body calling him to sleep. He felt the soft caress of the wind, it too was luxuriously warm, and the feel of the desert sunlight was heaven to his senses after his long exile in the damp, mold filled darkness. He lay there for a time, somewhere in between the land of sleep and wakefulness until Bennett's voice again grabbed his wandering attention. All he heard was.
