The Slave

Where do we come from?

Where do we go?

Please, come and find me, Ah-dam!

I need you so.

The heavy steel door swings open with a menacing hiss, and I slam it shut as soon as I squeeze through the narrow gap. I am desperate to escape this stupid poem that’s been haunting me across far too many lifetimes. “Go away!” I snap, not dismissing the words but the excruciating memories they evoke. Of my wife Mona, who spoke the rhyme as a private jest many reincarnations of the universe ago.

The walls illuminate as I storm into my cubicle, reacting to my movement and body heat. I allow my eyes to adjust to the dim light. Where is she?

"Slave!” I call out, restraining the anger in my voice. I must not to startle the timid little creature that reminds me of a stray kitten I once found (but that was aeons ago and is hardly worth the mention).

The kitten didn’t last long in those days of war and turmoil. It got trampled during a brutal raid, together with my sister and mother. I wipe my hands across my face to banish the images, but it takes more than a swipe of my hand to erase those pictures even temporarily. Frustration and Anger rattle their cages. Howling. Shaking me.

“Slave!” Louder this time.

A silent shadow comes rushing from the bed-cell and crashes to her knees in front of me. She bows her head, midnight hair cascading over her slim back and trembling shoulders. The submissive posture mollifies and enrages me, and I cannot make sense of the contradicting emotions.

“Get up!” I roughly grab her by the shoulders and pull her to her feet.

She doesn’t resist but doesn’t participate either. She is like a rag-doll in my arms. Or a terrified child.

I let go of her, and she stumbles, her back hitting the wall. There she stands with her beautiful face all eyes, her breathing shallow and rapid, and her entire body shaking. A picture of panic and terror. Yet, there is also steel in the way she keeps a tight rein on her fear. And there is defiance in the way she meets my eyes.

My gaze wanders over the perfect curves of her slender body. Her skin is the creamy pale of fresh milk, and I drink her in. Her eyes are blue as the ocean, her lips red and plump and trembling with fear.

She is naked to my perusal. Slaves don’t wear clothes. Our law forbids it. I cannot remember who made this damned rule, but it is as old as this cursed, subterranean Fae society.

“There you are,” I say and shoo her away with a dismissive wave of my hand. It occurs to me that I am acting like a dick. Why do I summon her just to send her away again? Or did I call for her just to curb my fear that she might be gone? Like Mona … The memories torture me.

The slave gropes along the wall toward my bed-cell, her eyes fixed on me, taking notice of my every move. A gazelle and a jaguar. I haven’t seen either animal in centuries! Not since my race permanently retreated beneath the earth — buried, hidden, defeated.

Longing floods my very essence! I crave the warmth of sunlight! Pine for the full moon that hangs in the night sky like a ripe fruit! I want to bask in its pale light wade into the soft, silken waves of the ocean. I want to smell the clean scent of water, feel the breeze on my skin … feel it play with my hair.

And I want to share it with her.

This insight startles me, and my mind comes to a grinding halt. I cannot think. I refuse to think.

‘Think!’ I snarl an order at my useless, melancholy self.

While I battle and argue with my sappy id, my slave has retreated into my bed-cell. I follow her, determined to throw her and her sleeping-palette out of my private sanctuary.

I stop dead.

She sits on my bed, knees tucked into her chest, her big blue eyes trained on me. Hopeful? Seeking? What does she want from me?

“Get out of my bed!” I growl, emphasising my words with an angry throwaway gesture.

She shakes her head.

What? She must never disobey me! “How dare you?” I am at her side in one big stride.

She shrinks into her balled-up self, shaking with terror, clearly preparing for my strike.

Shock immobilises me. I never intended to. I never hit a woman … not even an enemy, and certainly not a defenceless human slave.

Slaves don’t speak. Well, they do, but not our language, and we don’t encourage them to learn it. It is easier to control the ignorant. Being able to communicate in our language gives them the advantage of eavesdropping, learning, and plotting against us. Cutting the enemy off our communication lines works well for our species … has for a long time.

A small whimper escapes her mouth, and her big, blue eyes are pleading with me: Please! Don’t hurt me.

“Ah …” I swallow back the inexplicable lump in my throat and hunker down next to the bed. I slowly extend my hand and cringe as she flinches away. Her eyes never leave mine as I advance my hand further, careful not to send her into a panic spiral. She stays perfectly still as I run my knuckles over her high cheekbone and along her jaw, detecting a vibration under her skin; a low-voltage hum, but it’s not fear causing it. I am sure about this. I learned to read energy flows so long ago that I have almost forgotten again how to interpret them.

“Don’t be afraid,” I murmur, and at the same instant, I want to kick myself for being so stupid as to talk to a slave other than to shout an order.

Did she prepare my meal? Did she clean my cubicle? Has she carried out every task to the highest standard? Those are the question I should be asking. Do I care …? I close my eyes and sit back on my heels. I never cared to start with. Universe! I never wanted a slave. Especially not a female! How did I end up with her? I have no idea!

She scrambles off the far side of the bed and walks around to where I am crouching on the floor. She stands next to me, her head cocked, assessing me with quizzical, intelligent eyes.

“What do you want?” I murmur, embarrassed by my pathetic weakness.

I bought her because she reminds me of Mona, the woman I spent my life with multiple times over … until she couldn’t find me any more. ‘Please, come and find me!’ I have been waiting for aeons. Waiting for Mona to return, find me, and rescue me. It’s been so long, I have lost count of time and events. Lived through wars and natural disasters. I have seen the sun burn out and Terra being swallowed by its bloated remains. I still waited for Mona. I stayed inside the red giant. I was there when the dying star blew up, scattering its matter into space. I clung on to the white dwarf it left behind and remained until it got swept away into a black hole from where I emerged into another reality … and another … and another. Eternity is tedious.