By Pup Aros
*buzz buzz. buzz buzz.*
BZZT. BZZT.
I am literally shocked awake. Groggy for a moment, but not long, I wince from the morning routine shock to my neck that wakes me daily. I never get used to that feeling, like someone’s attached thousands of threads to each muscle fiber in my face and yanked them all down towards my neck. Sir has allotted me 5 minutes to gather myself and prepare myself before my cage door opens, and I’m grateful for it. Every night, He shuts the door to my cage. Depending on how well I’ve served Him, I may have a blanket and mattress and pillow. Yesterday, I’d made several mistakes with my protocol, and so for five minutes, I sit on the steel bars of the floor responsible for my fitful rest.
The lock on the cage buzzes, clicks, and the door swings open. My room in Sir’s house is a modest concrete cell. The cage is in one corner across the room from the door. On the wall to the right of the door, there’s a wall-hung cot heavy with straps and the black mass of my sleepsack, which is my alternate sleeping arrangement.
