I walk alongside my elder brother—though, truth be told, we stand eye to eye. No, that’s not accurate. I might even be a touch taller. Yes, I am taller than him. Amusing, in a way. But there’s nothing amusing about our surroundings.
Reds. n, won, the aged, and the young. Their lives, already brief, have been rendered even more arduous. I keep my gaze steady, betraying no emotion. My chiseled jawline, like Lieben’s, casts a shadow over those around us. Not that it’s difficult when more than half are re skeletons, and the rest appear as though they’ve been beaten into pulp.
The Blues who’ve spent weeks aboard the ships fare no better. The few Greens and the rarer Oranges among them are rugged, masculine. Lieben and I, while masculine, possess a more refined appearance—softer skin, elegant attire, though perhaps not at this mont. But that hardly matters now.
Outwardly, I remain composed; inwardly, I shudder. I yearn to free them all—the frightened children lying atop mutilated corpses, the fragile elderly who are scarcely older than I will be in two decades, the unfortunate won who seem to have endured daily violations for weeks.
My once-clean shoes now squelch through the coagulating red blood of the people my family has enslaved with their own hands. I feel nauseated. No, I truly am nauseated, but I swallow it down. So of the acidic bile escapes through my nostrils, forcing to suppress a coughing fit.
By the gods, why was I born into this family?
I wipe my blue lips and gaze upon the heaps of corpses. Why must they all suffer so? Why can’t we live normally? Why must such a power structure exist?
But I answer my own question as I look up at the cyan, slightly turquoise sky. The Golds. Gods. Apollo. They are the reason, even though we know nothing of their existence. We rely extract their powers through the rituals of the Nine—nine deities who have orchestrated this dystopian world. Nine divine beings whose blood is golden, unlike our blue, yellow, brown, or red. Simply because they are more powerful.
I stare into the sky with cold eyes, then shift my gaze to the sail. A ladder, a small platform, and at the top of the mast hangs a naked Red man. Nailed, hanging upside down like a cross, like the prophet of the Reds. Hypocritical, humiliating.
I continue walking behind Lieben until he stops.
"Down here," says another man, rough and reeking of fish, as he hands my brother a rusty silver key. Lieben clicks his blue tongue in disgust. Compared to us, he sees the Reds as coarse, puny swine, yet our blood is of the sa kind.
The man’s yellow teeth are hidden beneath his full, dark gray beard as he hastily departs—likely out of fear of making a mistake.
Lieben moves forward, his weight causing the dry stairs to creak and groan. The air shifts from the salty, fishy sll, tinged with death, to a suffocating stench where light barely penetrates. The air is not only stale but also reeks of feces and urine.
I peer into the darkness where the Reds have been confined for weeks. My eyes scan from cell to cell. Half have already been transported out to be branded and subsequently sold at small auctions, to direct buyers, or otherwise trafficked. The other half remains here, alone with Lieben and .
They sit hunched, like animals in mass production, cramped in the tightest conditions. They whimper like dogs, flinching at the sound of our approaching footsteps. But it’s not they fear—it’s my brother. He looks down upon them.
"Swine," Lieben mutters as he approaches a closed cell and unlocks it with a key. "One at a ti," he says, his cold eyes appearing beastly to the Reds.
I wish I could buy them all, hide them sowhere, and grant them a normal life. But in this reality, such a wish remains just that—a simple wish.
Lieben steps back as, every ten seconds, a Red man or woman erges from the cramped cell and ascends the stairs. They don’t all rush out at once. They don’t attempt to overpower us. I shudder to think what must have happened to strip them of any desire to escape.
This also casts doubt on any future rebellion. How can Reds live normally—no, how can this power structure be changed—if no one is willing to do anything about it, let alone fight against it?
But I can do nothing. I am like them, signaling them to go upstairs, watching as the children, won, and n, all naked, ascend. re seconds later, I hear the hissing, the screams, and the cycle continues.
While I appear stiff and tense, Lieben seems relaxed, almost bored. I despise him. That the sa blood flows through our veins. I don’t an the color, but that of our parents.
I sigh. No, I am the odd one, thinking the way I do in this world...
Reviews
All reviews (0)