Christian- Slave

“Christian, you’re up,” The security guard behind me says, firmly gripping my shoulder and pushing me forward. I try to keep my feet planted, but another guard comes to assist, forcefully moving me. I want to break free and run away, but the shackles binding my finds and feet, as well as the two muscular guards holding me prevent me from doing so.

I trudge up the stairs to the stage, the corners of my lips contorted in an irritated, disdainful snarl, my sharp features even sharper and colder now that this dreadful day is finally upon me.

I got lucky, though. I got to spend an extra five years in the institute due to my aggressive behavior, so instead of being eighteen like most of the other men are in line behind me, I am twenty three. It is very rare someone gets held back as long as I have.

I peer out into the crowd, my nose wrinkling in disgust at the women clad in fancy dresses and golden jewelry, all around thirty or forty, some even looking to be in their sixties, holding their paddles, waiting to make bids for me. They’re all looking at me like I’m desert they are waiting to taste instead of a human being.

“Christian Black,” The auctioneer gestures to me, her voice grating to my ears. I look at her from the corner of my eyes, my gaze full of hate. “We will start the bidding at $100,”

Disgusting, I think, having to clench my teeth to keep from lashing out, knowing I’ll be beat if I do. I just hate the idea that I am worth $100 to them. No more, no less. I am not a person, I’m a possession, a simple object to be bought and used.

The guards behind me feel my muscles tense and they grip me a little tighter, aware of my history of my aggression at the institute.

“$150,” A woman says, her voice clipped and proper, paddle raised in the air, displaying the $150 she wants to pay for me.

I bite the inside of my cheek, hard enough that I feel the metallic taste of blood on my tongue. I cast my eyes downwards, unable to look at the women in front of me, my body shaking with anger and revulsion.

After a while, we reach higher numbers, but most have lost interest by now.

“$500,000,” My head snaps up, my brows furrowed in confusion. I see a young female, her arm raised in the air, paddle displaying her number. She looks even younger than me. That only serves to further my confusion.

Another woman, in her late forties I would guess, raises her own paddle, a smirk on her thin lips. “$600,000,” She calls out, glaring at the younger girl, challenging her.

I watch the both of them go at it, fighting over me, their numbers growing to incredibly large amounts. Everyone else watches too, seeming giddy, wondering who will win me.

That makes another pang of disgust ring through me. Win me. That’s perfect.

“$1,000,000!” The girl says, sounding both sure and nervous at the same time, standing up from her seat, causing it to scrape against the floor.

The woman in her forties looks at the young girl with shock, her mouth, stained with red lipstick, hanging open. She even removes her glasses, revealing her surprised blue eyes. I can’t blame her, I’m looking at the girl like that too.

After a few moments of complete, utter silence, the auctioneer bangs the gavel onto the podium and points at the relieved looking girl, saying, “Sold to the beautiful young lady in white for $1,000,000!”

I glower at the girl, my gaze burning from beneath my black hair, the snarl reforming on my lips as the two guards shove me once more and lead me to the side where she can claim her prize and take me home.