A/N: I'm warning everyone now this is merely a demo chapter. If you think I should continue on with this story, after I have finished my others, let me know and I will continue to write and hopefully finish this story. If you do not think I should continue with this later, let me know and the reasons why you don't like it. For those who read it and wish I was continuing with it straight away hands over the baseball bats wordlessly. I'm warning you now this chapter is not edited as finely as my other stories because as I said, this is just a demo to see if it is worthy of continuing on. So if you wish to berate me on grammar such as you spelled the wrong form of "their" your wasting your breath. K well this was long enough! Read on if you wish!

Slave

Slave-Chap1-The Ship Docks-

Slave bent her head down, struggling to keep from vomiting. The stench of unwashed bodies rolled over her in overpowering waves and she found herself wishing that the overseer had hit her harder, if not to relieve the smell then to get rid of the pounding headache in her head.

The ship gave a lurch, as if struggling to overpower a wave that sought to swamp it. Swaying a little, Slave bent over retching what was left in her stomach. Groaning, she used her free hand to wipe a hand across her mouth, as she struggled to stand straighter so her other wrist wouldn't drag against the chain attached to the ceiling. As she gained a slight measure of control over herself, she realized that she was staring into the scruffy, blood-stained boots of the overseer. It was then she heard the audible hush that had befallen the rest of the slaves. Even the creaking timbers of the ship seemed to have fallen silent.

"Slave! Whore!"

Slave winced a little, drawing back as far as the chain would allow. The overseer's voice pounded in her head and his spit covered her face. "Keep spitting like that and I won't have to bathe! And your boots needed the extra shine." She spat back, knowing that was foolish and near-suicidal to tempt the overseer's temper and patience. She was rewarded with a back hand blow that caused her face to slam into the nearest pillar.

"You rutting whore! You're a slave now, you're obedient. You say nothing unless we tell you to."

Slave raised her head, her eyes glowing with a spiteful pride. "You would think that by now you would figure out that I'm not your normal slave," she said. "And you're not supposed to hit me. We're docking today. Or did you forget?" She gasped as her face slammed into the pillar again. She could feel blood leaking down her face, coating it a red haze.

With no hesitancy, she raised her eyes back to the overseer; it was a direct violation of what a slave was allowed to do. She watched without showing any fear as the overseer's hand rose to backhand her again, but the hatch overhead opened, sending in a refreshing wave of sea air. The faint crying of a gull could be heard.

"What do you think your doing?" the Captain raged, thumping down the ladder. "The slaves are to be bathed so they can be sold! And what's this. She's bleeding."

"She lost her balance," the overseer said, the lie coming smoothly to his lips with such ease it could have been mistaken for the truth.

"Stupid slave," the captain snapped. "Get them ready." He turned, as if he could not bear the smell of the hold and he left, closing the trap door as he went.

Slave, closed her eyes, before opening them again, as she felt someone watching her. Standing a little straighter she opened her eyes, but saw that it was not the overseer's eyes that were watching her, it was the rest of the hold. The women stared at her, open shock and admiration on their faces. They were all afraid to hit back, to retort, to stand up for themselves but Slave was not. She was sure that some wondered if she was insane. Slave didn't know herself.

Sighing, giving use to the pillar she was chained next to, Slave stared at the ceiling, struggling not to remember either her headache or the smell of the hold. Am I insane to fight back? Am I insane when the rules of my new life were laid before me, when they laid it before me with force because I would not listen? Why can I not remember who I am? I must have had a name other then "slave," a name that had meaning, importance, love...No Slave. Don't go there. There lies madness you must be strong.

"Get moving!"

The sharp voice brought Slave from her thoughts and she glanced around realizing that the chain had been moved to her wrists. She went to take a step, to fall in behind the rest of the slaves, but she had failed to realize that the ship wasn;t moving. For a disorienting moment she lurched, her foot crashing into the deck harder then she had anticipated. Hearing the overseer's laugh behind her, she straightened tossing her head in arrogant manner. She started to walk again, ignoring the distant throbbing in her ankle. It was not broken or sprained, merely tender from the unexpectedness of the boat not moving.

Keeping her head low, so the sun would not blind her, Slave obediently moved up onto the deck, and shuffled along. She could not escape while there were so many guards and with these shackles holding her hands together.

"You! Clean up!"

Slaved was jerked around by rough fingers gripping her shoulder. Realizing that she had forgotten to bathe her face into the fast-dirtying water, she bent her head and cleaned the dirt off her face and hands, ignoring the baleful glares as she took longer then they wanted to her to.

Finished, she turned sharply and stalked to where the other women were waiting to be herded off the ship. The sun beat down upon Slave, soaking into the clothes she was wearing, making her head spin, and it was an effort to stand, tall erect, spiteful. Most of the other women were kneeling on the deck, their eyes closed as the sun's rays stabbed mercilessly into the eyes of those only used to darkness.

The sun had marched high into the sky, before Slave was forced to move down the gangplank. For a split second she was tempted to throw herself off, into the cool waters but quickly refrained herself. Though the water was inviting, she knew that the few guards that could swim would jump in after her. It wouldn't do for their reputation if a slave died because she jumped off the gangplank. Slave's head spun, and she turned her gaze forcefully away from the water, knowing that to look at it would make matters worse, as it would remind that she had been given nothing to drink, and forced to watch when the other slave's had been given water. It was on the times she regretted singling herself out.

Raising her eyes off her feet, as she saw sand beneath her feet, Slave raised her eyes and almost forgot to stifle the gasp. She was standing on the edge of a great city, rising out of the desert, as if it sought to beat back the relentless sun and sand. Around the slaves were gathered a group of people, people who watched them greedily, as if seeking to single out the slave they wanted personally, before they actually got to the Slave Market.

Slave felt their eyes slide off her, without looking twice at her. As she walked, she saw people whisper behind their hands and a few words reached her eyes. "Witch." "Look at her strange clothing!" "Such a disgraceful walk for a slave!" "Who would want her? She has no shape!". Doing her best to look aloof, Slave continued walking, refused to listen. If she listened, she would crack. If she listened her chances for escape and sanity would shrivel like the lives beneath the hot, cruel sun. Before the gates of the city rose up, proud and undiminished, and as she passed beneath their cool shadow Slave didn't look back. She was already looking forward. So my new life begins and I will give every single one of those bastards hell to pay for what they have done to me.