Chapter 2: Nothing from Nowhere
By: DarkDuelist
Disclaimer: Aladdin, Jasmine and Co. are copyright of Disney, and I used them without permission, but with love. (*) mean the character is thinking. The title of this chapter comes from the AFI song "Miseria Cantare"(The Beginning).
***
She was running as fast as she could. All around her was the wreckage of the campsite. Panic and adrenaline kept her going. Only one thing was on her mind: Aladdin. Suddenly she stopped, tears streaming down her face, and fell to her knees. She couldn't find him and all hope seemed to be lost.
"Jasmine?"
She turned her head and there he was, not a cut or drop of blood on him.
"Aladdin!" She was quickly on her feet and ran toward him, but instead of embracing him she ran though him. She stood there in shock and confusion. She turned back to him and moved to touch his cheek. Once again her hand passed though, as if he was air.
"No, it can't be," she whispered. "How can it be?"
"Because you left me," Aladdin replied, his voice monotone.
"No! I never left you."
"You came, you saw, you left!" He spat the last part.
"I looked everywhere. We all did. We searched every part of the camp. I couldn't find you."
"So you left!" Aladdin snapped, "Just like that you gave up. Was I really that disposable, Jasmine?"
"No, Aladdin, it wasn't like that. You know how much I love you."
"I thought I did. But it doesn't matter now. Because once you leave there's no going back."
With that he faded into nothing, leaving her alone.
"Aladdin!"
***
Jasmine sat up in her bed with sweat pouring down her face. It had been one week since Aladdin had gone missing. She refused to believe that he was really gone. Aladdin was alive, and, no matter how long it took, she would find him.
***
"Get up! All of you to your feet!"
Slowly and stiffly he got to his feet. For days they had traveled, locked in their cages only allowed at night to be out and sleep on the cold ground. The first night a few prisoners decided to try to run away. They didn't get far, and as punishment their feet were cut off and they were left to die. The next night no one dared to run.
"Faster!"
The whip hit him so hard he almost collapsed, but he pushed back the pain and crawled into the cage. His arms were once again chained to the bars, and when everyone was locked in the trip began. His whole body throbbed with agony, and his forehead burned with fever. If the wounds or fever didn't kill him, the hunger would. Since the day he woke to this Hell he hadn't had a thing to eat. Once their captors threw them some scraps, but only those strong enough to fight got any.
"You don't look so well, my friend." The other prisoner was giving him a worried look.
"I don't feel too well, either," he rasped back.
"Don't worry; it will be over soon. They're always the worst for the first week to get rid of the weak ones. I bet tonight we'll get a meal without having to kill one another for it."
The conversation ended there, and for the rest of the day there was silence. His days were filled with periods of unconsciousness and living Hell. Two times that day they stopped, and the dead were thrown out.
The journey felt as if it had lasted a century, but it was only two weeks. In those weeks he had learned a few important lessons: never speak when a guard was close by, never try to get away, and never ask anyone who he was or where he was from. When he had asked his "cellmate" he was quickly hushed.
"Never speak of such things. Don't ever let them hear you even say the word "name" or they'll whip you."
"But why?"
"Don't ever ask why!" the other snapped, "Just do it."
When the trip was over, they had come to a city and were made to stand in a line as other men looked them over. It didn't take long to realize that they were being sold as slaves. His "cellmate" was sold quickly and that was the last the young man ever saw of him. Not long afterwards a tall middle-aged man approached and looked at him like one would do any item at market. The man waved a guard over.
"Is he new to the game?"
"Yes, captured from the desert south of here."
"Captured you say." He gave the slave another look. "Did he put up a fight?"
"Oh yes, my lord. He may not look like much, but he is clever."
They left for a few minutes and not after long the guard retuned.
"Congratulations, you have a new master."
After being bought, the prisoner was led back out of the city, his hands and feet chained. They soon came to a small stone building, and inside were nothing but stairs that led down into the ground. At the end of the stairs there was a larger stone room where other slaves were standing in a line. Five, he counted to himself. He noticed two doors: one on the right side, the other on the left. Not long after, two more men walked in from the door on the right. One was dressed simply and had a sword: a guard. The other wore richly made robes with many jewels: the master. The guard who had entered with the master walked down the line, eyeing each of them carefully.
"Some of you have been in places like this before, but many have not, so let's get to it. Whoever you were and where you were from are gone now. Forget every bit of it. You're nothing, and Cyril is your master now." The guard walked to the first man in the line.
"Who are you and where are you from?"
"My name is..."
The guard slapped him across the face.
"No! You are nothing from nowhere and Cyril is your master. Now," he grabbed the slave by his hair, "Who are you?"
"I'm nothing."
"And you're from where?"
"Nowhere."
"And who is your master?"
"Cyril. Cyril is my master."
"Good dog," the guard said with a smile and walked to the next in line.
*So, this is what we're reduced to.*
"Boy!"
He looked up into the guard's eyes.
"Who are you, where are you from and who is your master?"
The slave stood rigidly, not saying a word. *No, I won't let them treat me like an animal anymore.*
The guard slapped him, repeated the question, and once again didn't receive an answer. This time another guard came over and whipped the defiant slave. When the guard asked again and got no answer, Cyril stepped forward.
"You aren't very smart, are you? Take him to the cell! Maybe after a few days there he'll be more willing to talk."
Two guards grabbed him and dragged him to the door on the left. The slaves who had been in places like this one before knew what awaited the poor boy, and also knew that he would soon regret his mistake.
By: DarkDuelist
Disclaimer: Aladdin, Jasmine and Co. are copyright of Disney, and I used them without permission, but with love. (*) mean the character is thinking. The title of this chapter comes from the AFI song "Miseria Cantare"(The Beginning).
***
She was running as fast as she could. All around her was the wreckage of the campsite. Panic and adrenaline kept her going. Only one thing was on her mind: Aladdin. Suddenly she stopped, tears streaming down her face, and fell to her knees. She couldn't find him and all hope seemed to be lost.
"Jasmine?"
She turned her head and there he was, not a cut or drop of blood on him.
"Aladdin!" She was quickly on her feet and ran toward him, but instead of embracing him she ran though him. She stood there in shock and confusion. She turned back to him and moved to touch his cheek. Once again her hand passed though, as if he was air.
"No, it can't be," she whispered. "How can it be?"
"Because you left me," Aladdin replied, his voice monotone.
"No! I never left you."
"You came, you saw, you left!" He spat the last part.
"I looked everywhere. We all did. We searched every part of the camp. I couldn't find you."
"So you left!" Aladdin snapped, "Just like that you gave up. Was I really that disposable, Jasmine?"
"No, Aladdin, it wasn't like that. You know how much I love you."
"I thought I did. But it doesn't matter now. Because once you leave there's no going back."
With that he faded into nothing, leaving her alone.
"Aladdin!"
***
Jasmine sat up in her bed with sweat pouring down her face. It had been one week since Aladdin had gone missing. She refused to believe that he was really gone. Aladdin was alive, and, no matter how long it took, she would find him.
***
"Get up! All of you to your feet!"
Slowly and stiffly he got to his feet. For days they had traveled, locked in their cages only allowed at night to be out and sleep on the cold ground. The first night a few prisoners decided to try to run away. They didn't get far, and as punishment their feet were cut off and they were left to die. The next night no one dared to run.
"Faster!"
The whip hit him so hard he almost collapsed, but he pushed back the pain and crawled into the cage. His arms were once again chained to the bars, and when everyone was locked in the trip began. His whole body throbbed with agony, and his forehead burned with fever. If the wounds or fever didn't kill him, the hunger would. Since the day he woke to this Hell he hadn't had a thing to eat. Once their captors threw them some scraps, but only those strong enough to fight got any.
"You don't look so well, my friend." The other prisoner was giving him a worried look.
"I don't feel too well, either," he rasped back.
"Don't worry; it will be over soon. They're always the worst for the first week to get rid of the weak ones. I bet tonight we'll get a meal without having to kill one another for it."
The conversation ended there, and for the rest of the day there was silence. His days were filled with periods of unconsciousness and living Hell. Two times that day they stopped, and the dead were thrown out.
The journey felt as if it had lasted a century, but it was only two weeks. In those weeks he had learned a few important lessons: never speak when a guard was close by, never try to get away, and never ask anyone who he was or where he was from. When he had asked his "cellmate" he was quickly hushed.
"Never speak of such things. Don't ever let them hear you even say the word "name" or they'll whip you."
"But why?"
"Don't ever ask why!" the other snapped, "Just do it."
When the trip was over, they had come to a city and were made to stand in a line as other men looked them over. It didn't take long to realize that they were being sold as slaves. His "cellmate" was sold quickly and that was the last the young man ever saw of him. Not long afterwards a tall middle-aged man approached and looked at him like one would do any item at market. The man waved a guard over.
"Is he new to the game?"
"Yes, captured from the desert south of here."
"Captured you say." He gave the slave another look. "Did he put up a fight?"
"Oh yes, my lord. He may not look like much, but he is clever."
They left for a few minutes and not after long the guard retuned.
"Congratulations, you have a new master."
After being bought, the prisoner was led back out of the city, his hands and feet chained. They soon came to a small stone building, and inside were nothing but stairs that led down into the ground. At the end of the stairs there was a larger stone room where other slaves were standing in a line. Five, he counted to himself. He noticed two doors: one on the right side, the other on the left. Not long after, two more men walked in from the door on the right. One was dressed simply and had a sword: a guard. The other wore richly made robes with many jewels: the master. The guard who had entered with the master walked down the line, eyeing each of them carefully.
"Some of you have been in places like this before, but many have not, so let's get to it. Whoever you were and where you were from are gone now. Forget every bit of it. You're nothing, and Cyril is your master now." The guard walked to the first man in the line.
"Who are you and where are you from?"
"My name is..."
The guard slapped him across the face.
"No! You are nothing from nowhere and Cyril is your master. Now," he grabbed the slave by his hair, "Who are you?"
"I'm nothing."
"And you're from where?"
"Nowhere."
"And who is your master?"
"Cyril. Cyril is my master."
"Good dog," the guard said with a smile and walked to the next in line.
*So, this is what we're reduced to.*
"Boy!"
He looked up into the guard's eyes.
"Who are you, where are you from and who is your master?"
The slave stood rigidly, not saying a word. *No, I won't let them treat me like an animal anymore.*
The guard slapped him, repeated the question, and once again didn't receive an answer. This time another guard came over and whipped the defiant slave. When the guard asked again and got no answer, Cyril stepped forward.
"You aren't very smart, are you? Take him to the cell! Maybe after a few days there he'll be more willing to talk."
Two guards grabbed him and dragged him to the door on the left. The slaves who had been in places like this one before knew what awaited the poor boy, and also knew that he would soon regret his mistake.