By slaveobjectx

The Cage

Still handcuffed, I was bustled into the back of a huge prison van which was waiting at the front of the courthouse. To my surprise, inside the back there wasn’t a bench or anything like that to sit on. Instead, there only were a number of low cages, a bit like dog kennels but with a row of thick iron bars on the front. In a quick glance, I counted at least eight of them, four building a first row, and four a second behind, but because of the twilight it was difficult to oversee the whole cargo-space and to distinguish if there were more rows in the darkness behind those I could see.

I immediately realized that there was no mistake in putting me in this van, which clearly wasn’t one used by the local zoo, for these cages clearly weren’t meant to transport beasts but men. In each of the two furthermost cages a young man had been locked in, apparently forced by the lowness and narrowness of his cage to crouch on his fours like a dog. Both were rather tall, around my own age, wearing just a T-shirt and jeans as I did.

The guy to the left, whose face seemed totally expressionless, I hadn’t seen ever before. But the other I recognized, because he had been into court and sentenced two hours before me. I had seen him coming out after his case was finished this afternoon when I entered the courtroom — mine was the last that day, as it was half past five now. The lad had committed some shop-lifting, and apparently was to be sent to the same prison as I. What I didn’t know was how many years he had got. The face of the guy was filled with fear, he was weeping a little.

O God, he must have sat in that helpless position for nearly the whole time I was in the court. I must confess I was really shocked at that moment by the whole sight. This was contrary to all modern human rights, which in this district were surely to be held in the same esteem as in the rest of the States. I had somehow to contact Amnesty after arriving at the prison, because the government of course couldn’t tolerate these kinds of sadistic abuses.

Would the superiors of these two warders know this? These guards surely wouldn’t dare to throw me inside one of the other cages, would they? Anyhow, in a reflex action, I receded a little. Bob saw the fright in my eyes and smiled. ‘Yes, they’re very fine, these slave-pens, aren’t they? They’re quite safe to transport our prisoners. No one will come tumbling out of them by accident. They are well made of the best stuff we have, and we’ve designed them so that the user is forced to sit permanently in the position that best suits his new status. So they’ll give our newcomers a nice impression of their new way of life.’

He laughed at his own words, and banged with his right hand against the bars of the cage of the shoplifter, so that it rattled. The poor man inside was quite startled by it and shrunk back, fear in his eyes. ‘And they sound very well too,’ he added. I was rather embarrassed by his words and his performance, and when I turned to him I must have looked a bit stupefied, but the warder apparently didn’t want to wait any longer. He opened one of the cages in front, next to that of the second guy, and made a mock-polite gesture of invitation.

‘OK, boy, you’ve have seen them long enough from the outside, so get in now, backwards. It’s a very fine pen, and I’m sure, you’ll enjoy your stay inside. See how nice we are to our fresh slaves, letting you look out of your cage? See, how happy your neighbour feels in it? Well, what’s the delay? Come on, its safe in there. There’s nobody else in yours. Might be a bit narrow, but otherwise this place is just the place for novices like you. And don’t worry about breaking anything when confined behind these bars. Those cages are rather new and the ironwork is very solid, so you’ll be quite secure for any attack of a kidnapper. The factory that made them for us guarantees them for a couple of decades or so to come. And, for your own safety, we’ll lock your slave-cage real carefully, I promise you, boy, and after having done that there’s no danger that somebody will enter without us knowing about it. We don’t want to lose our property on the way home, you can understand that. So get your butt down low enough for a slave to enter.’

He pushed me down on my knees. ‘That’s it, boy, in you go!’ I resisted at first, but his hand pushing on my head showed I had no alternative. ‘Come on, boy, into your slave-pen. That’s the kind of place where you belong in the future,’ he said, his voice getting louder. ‘That’s the sort of place that fits you best. Don’t be so stubborn, otherwise we’ll have to use violence. So, get into your pen, you miserable slave, move it!’ His feigned fellow feeling had gone. The last words he really shouted, and in his voice there was no doubt that he was prepared to get mad.

I had no choice. I was already forced on my knees by the warder, with my face in his direction, and my ass in that of the cage. Hesitatingly I moved backwards on all fours. I felt humiliated, being treated like this, being shut up in a cage like an animal on my transport to prison, but I couldn’t find any way to resist. They were two against one and I was still handcuffed, one shouldn’t forget that. Nevertheless, apparently I moved backwards too slowly, because the warder now gave me a kick with his right boot on my shoulder.

‘A little bit quicker, slave, we ain’t got hours here. You still have a lot to learn, you lazy bastard.’ He then gave me second kick, which really did hurt me, so I had some difficulty holding back from crying out because of the pain.

I now moved, as quickly as I could with my handcuffs on, on my knees, backwards into the cage. When I was totally in, the tall warder closed the barred door of the slave-pen just some inches in front of my nose and secured it with a heavy padlock. ‘So that’s fine, boy. OK boy, you can relax now, you’re safe in here.’

I really felt myself a captured animal now. Inside I couldn’t stand nor lie down. It was even so narrow that I wouldn’t be able to turn round or even sit. While these thoughts flashed through my mind, the warder suddenly stuck his hand through the bars, seized one of my handcuffs, loosened it, took the connecting chain through the bars to the outside and then fixed the opened cuff again to my wrist, so that both my hands were shackled together — but this time with one of the bars of the cage in-between. So I was forced like both other lads in the cages next door to stay in the same kneeling position with which I had entered.

I assumed the two other prisoners were cuffed the same way as I was, although it hadn’t struck me as I entered the van a few minutes ago. I really must have looked like a wild beast behind these bars, which even a lion wouldn’t be able to break. ‘You begin to understand, boy, that’s the right position for you. You look quite nice on your knees behind these bars. You better do that more often in the future. Starts to look like a real slave, yeah! That’s what we like to see, yeah! We’ll just leave you here for a while to make a short journey, so you can start to get used to your new state of slavery.’ Then he locked the back of the van.

Within a minute we were off. It was an uncomfortable journey. They had saved as much space as possible by customising these transport cages for their prisoners; even on my knees it was a tight fit. The handcuffs, by which I was fastened to the bars of my cage, were biting deep into my wrists, made all the worse by being thrown from side to side as the van turned corners and even worse when it pulled off the freeway onto some kind of dirt track with a lot of holes, which went on and on for miles.

I reckon there was over thirty miles of it before we came to a halt. Wherever we were it was clearly the back of beyond. But luckily, after some two hours or so, the van door was unlocked and there were these two guys with great smirks on their faces. ‘Well lads, this is your new home for the next few years. Hope you enjoy your stay! It’s hell and heaven at the same time. It’ll be hell for you, and for that reason heaven for us.’

To be continued…