I hope you won't be too displeased with my infantile scrawls. I don't usually do this kind of thing (never really). But hey! It just started to flow, might as well write it down.
Buckets of respect go to the Queen of the Red Skittle, you will undoubtedly find similarities to her writings here.
The caravan moved monotonously in the sweltering heat, stopping only occasionally to resupply water. One foot was forced in front of the other, lead by a group of slavers, slowly drudging over endless dunes towards an unknown goal.
The brutal twin suns that chased each other across the clear blue sky harbored no favorites and shown no mercy. A day ago the shoulders of the shirtless man before her had begun to peal. The occasional wind would blow little white flakes of dead skin off of his back. Now his skin boiled.
The dress she wore had long sleeve and protected her from the most of it. In addition it was white, and reflected most of the sun. Nevertheless, the heat was unsupportable, and sent streams of sweat pouring down her face. The conditions under which they were kept were deplorable. Little water was distributed and it was barely enough to keep them from falling over. No rest was allowed.
Her captors, themselves wrapped in cloth to protect from wind, sun, and sand, rode the strangest two legged creatures she had ever seen. A species of bird perhaps, but with fur instead of feathers. They smelled as bad as their handlers, but were light, sturdy, and above all fast. There were perhaps only three slavers for the few hundred of them. But with the speed of their animals they easily patrolled their massive line of merchandise as it marched toward the horizon.
She assumed there were at least three hundred slaves. She had never had the opportunity to see the caravan in its entirety. It only ever went in a straight line, and the shoulders of the captive before her obstructed her view. Pathetic she found it, for an individual of such stature to be so complacent and resigned. But she bit her lip at the thought, knowing she was in no position compare.
The bird, she decided to call it one, had another utility. It could kick sideways, and would do so at the discretion of its rider. An event that she learned was to be at all costs avoided.
An eternity passed before the caravan arrived at an atoll. Stopping shortly at the entrance, there was an exchange between one of the slavers and the uniformed guard that stood by the gate. The guard made a sign with his hand and the caravan shuffled inside.
The entryway opened up to a sprawling market. Inside the main walls countless humans bustled about buying, selling, and haggling. Merchants announced their offers, ushering potential customers to their stands. She understood none of the words.
The women, deemed to fragile -and valuable- to make the journey walking under the sun, rode carriages. They had been moved to the front of the caravan, and were now unloaded and paraded to a sort of stage. There wealthy businessmen, and families made their selection. The women were no doubt expected to perform a number of domestic tasks. From cooking and cleaning to babysitting. She pitied them.
The true severity of her situation became apparent only as they passed through an archway and entered another part of the market. Here less valuable slaves were bought and sold like yard from a real. Customers purchased in meters, the slaves were counted, money was exchanged, and they went their separate ways dragging their purchase behind them. Now she envied the women she previously pitied, and once more regretted having assaulted the slaver, an act that earned her the punishment of having been lumped in with the men.
The slaves sold here were farmhands. They would be worked to the bone until they died, and she knew she would only last a year if she was lucky. She had to find escape. She tried to look around without arousing suspicion, but found her situation was hopeless. Her hands were bound too tightly. There was nothing she could do, and everywhere she looked she found earthen walls. The merchants carried no weapons. Presumably it was illegal to do so within the confines of the market walls.
Before she knew it, she too had been sold. The man who lead her now was a disgusting creature. A fat, stubby ogre of a man that whistled as he walked, chewed on something vile and occasionally spat on the ground. When he looked at his purchase he smiled in a way the girl hardly found appropriate.
She and a few select slaves were brought to an area adjacent to one of the exits of the market. She eyed the sandstone arch longingly, and seethed with an anger that was stifled only by the hunger that counterbalanced it. She would find a way. No. She had to find a way.
She and the five others were tied to poles scattered alongside the path that passed through the archway. Here humans of all shapes, colors and sizes streamed in and out of the market. She assumed the ogres intention was to resell the slaves he had just purchased. She didn't understand, surely there was little profit to be gained in this way. The ogre had made a mistake however, he had tied her to the pole. Yes tied. And knots could be undone even with both hands bound at the wrist. As soon as he turned his back she quickly undid the long end of the rope and bolted for the exit. Her heart jumped in her chest at the thought of freedom, and she wondered why the other slaves didn't simply run away as well. They had, after all, been bound in the same way that she was. "pah" she thought. They probably just didn't have the guts to do the same.
The world opened up in-front of her as she shot through the archway, then swung. swung? yes swung. Then tilted. And finally came crashing into her face. A fierce pain ran over her scalp as what felt like fingernails dug into her scalp. She turned, flailed, and attempted to defend herself.
One of the market guards had caught her by the hair, and she realized now, why no one had attempted to escape. She was able to get off only a single good punch to something that felt like metal before the ogre arrived an offered a well placed kick to her side. He half carried, half dragged her, still gasping for air, back inside and tied her again to an empty pole. The pain in her side was so strong she couldn't stand and practically hung from the stake. The guard chuckled as the ogre, huffing and puffing, tossed him a coin. She spat blood.
"If death didn't count" she thought. The only way to leave this market was to be bought or sold.