This is the last chapter I wrote during summer, thanks to a bad case of writers block.
Searge, i'm thinking of posting the next chapter of Splat soon anyway cause I have up to a really important part of the story.
In fact, the chapter I wrote last night is quite major to.
Anyway, enough of my ramblings, we've finished part 1 so that puts us on to...
Part 2, The Refugee.
Chapter 1, Welcome to Hell
Bill was beyond screaming.
“48, 49, 50. You want another 50?”
Bill shook his head
“Then get to your bunk. Tomorrow you can clean up the mess you’ve made here.”
Bill looked around at the large amounts of his own blood that he would be cleaning tomorrow. He pushed himself tenderly up on to his hands and knees (his back was to badly mutilated for him to stand up) and started to crawl off. Then he was hit, hard in the back again. He screamed with pain and dropped to the floor. He lay there until he heard the big-bro-slig leaving. Then he pushed himself up again and crawled off, leaving a trail of his blood.
In most factories it would be pretty stupid for a slig to leave a mudokon to make his own way back to the bunks. But in most places mudokons had the will to live!
Bill slid down corridors, and in to the long passage containing row after row of iron-barred cages. He pulled his despairing body in to his cell and on to his bunk and slipped in to unconsciousness.
Later that night he came round to see a new mud being bundled in to the cell opposite his. The previous owner was the envy of all the other muds in the factory. He was dead.
This new guy stared angrily at the sligs as they whacked him forwards in to the cell and locked the door. He threw himself angrily against the bars of the cell as the sligs walked off, laughing and jeering. The mud eventually gave up on the bars and sat down and stared across at Bill.
“Welcome to Hell,” Bill said to him, dryly
“Do they treat all you guys like that?” The Mud asked
“You got off easy,” Bill replied.
The mud stared at him. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that insulting a guard will usually leave you screaming and bloody, so I recommend you keep your mouth shut next time you’re unhappy, Mud.
“Mud is what the sligs call us, it’s an insult.”
“I told you to shut up.”
“Nice to meet you to, I’m Reggie.”
“Bill,” Bill replied.
Reggie tried to get some more conversation out of him but Bill ignored him until he fell into unconsciousness.
It couldn’t be called sleep that the slaves got in that factory. Sleep involved rest and peace, but instead most muds were tense all night and the pain of their injuries still plagued them mercilessly
Bill was brought round at 4 the next morning by a b-b-slig kicking him into the bars on the far wall of his cage from the door. “You gotta lotta work to do today mud, you gotta get all your work done, and clean up the mess you made yesterday, so get movin or you’ll get the 50 you missed out on yesterday, plus a few more!
Bill scrambled out of his cage, his back still burning with pain, and got to work. He would have nothing to eat or drink that day, no rest, and he knew it. He followed the slig through the endless halls, and got down to work.
Reggie woke up at 7 that morning and looked across to see Bill missing from his cage. As they were led out he didn’t see him. At Breakfast there was still no sign of him. The other mudokons were silent in there eating, and he suddenly realised that he was the only mudokon in the hall who wasn’t staring at the table in front of him. And he was getting some dark looks from the Glukkons at the head table. He finished his food (he wasn’t sure what it was, only that it tasted foul) in silence.
Reggie had the worst day of his life, worked almost to death, beaten mercilessly whenever he paused. He still hadn’t seen Bill but he hadn’t had much of a chance to look! The evening meal was, as far as he could tell, some kind of fungus. It was dry and brittle and tasted like… something that tastes really foul!
That evening when they returned to there bunks, Bill’s cage was still empty. Then one of the others informed him, “he’s still gotta clean up that mess.”
He was pointing to the trail of blood on the floor. Half an hour later Bill appeared at the door, desperately wiping at the blood stains on the floor. When he came in he gave Reggie an “I told you so” stare. Reggie remembered Bill’s words the other night:
“Welcome to Hell.”
Man, it hadn’t been that bad!
Bill followed the trail of blood through the room and to the door of his cage where there was still a puddle of dry blood left. As he rubbed at it a b-b-slig walked in and watched him. Bill didn’t notice until the slig looked at his watch and counted down, “10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…”
Bill squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself. The slig raised his gun. And it was then that Reggie noticed 8 sharp spikes circling the gun barrel. He gasped in horror as the gun plunged downwards.
Reggie stared on in horror as Bill took hit after hit. He listened to Bills screaming and the slig’s steady counting.
“1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8… …47…48…49…50…51…52…53…54… …98…99…100.”
Reggie thought he would stop then but no:
“101…102…103… …196…197…198…199…200.”
Blood was splattered all over the floor and cages. The slig flung the door of Bill’s cage open and left him lying just outside.
Reggie stared at him, Bill was struggling to breathe and he was still bleeding endlessly.
Reggie stared at the open door of the cage and at the unlocked door leading out of the bunks. Bill could make a break for freedom any time all night! That’s when he finally realised, countless rebel leaders said it , “they can take away your freedom, they can take away your lives, but they can’t take away your hope.”
That was completely wrong. They hadn’t taken Bills freedom; he could still make a break. They hadn’t taken his life; he was alive and breathing. But the one thing they had taken, was his hope. Then Reggie truly understood. “Welcome to Hell,” prepare to forsake your hope.
And don't expect me to post the next chapter any time soon, serious writers block alert!
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