12. Returning Home
When we're finished, those of us who are owned slaves have to hurry back to our Masters and Mistresses. Dawn will be coming soon; a few more people and vehicles are about, but as I jog along the gutter, a little robin often hops along in front of me. He seems to know me and sees it as his job to lead me back to my Master!
Back at Master's house, the first light of dawn is just appearing. In the short interval between the end of the pre-dawn exercises and the beginning of my daily duties, I take the light breakfast a slavegirl's allowed, my 'pittance' they call it - seeds, nuts and grains, fresh fruit, and a glass of milk. My Master does not spoil me with indulgence, but he ensures that I eat well to maintain health. I am daily thankful for his tender concern. Today, the meal reminds me of my childhood, not much different from my breakfasts back then, though there was more sugar in my cereals. As I thought on those long-ago times, the robin, gaily leading me through the gutter, reminded me of early memories.
Of course, even as a young child, I'd sometimes seen slaves, usually females, in their scanty slave-clothes with neck-collars, arm and leg bands, visible brand-marks on their legs, scuttling along in the gutter with their heads bowed. Mum would say, 'Oh, they're just slaves - they're different from us,' and ignored my persistent questions, Dad seemed to be angry about them, but I didn't know why.
Then came the time when we'd first learnt about cMs in school - it's the policy to 'educate' youngsters about this. Our teacher showed a short video about the life of a typical slave girl. Although the video was meant to be purely factual, the video commentary and our teacher's tone were slanted towards 'warning us off,' expecting us to be shocked by what we saw.
But - I wasn't. It seemed, quite suddenly, to make perfect sense of feelings I'd fought with inside me for a long time without understanding. When at breakfast the next day I came out with it, telling Mum and Dad that I wanted to be a slave girl, there was a short, stunned silence, then Mum burst out laughing and told me to get ready for school. Dad was silent, but it was the silence I was used to when he was really, really angry.
That evening, I got an earful from Dad about 'running away from the real world.' Well, it soon turned out he had issues with the real world himself – it is enough here just to say he ran away from it in his own way.
But Mum seemed more ambivalent. We didn't talk about it for some time, but then, she came to my room to talk one afternoon. She revealed to me that, although she'd never felt drawn to the slave life herself, there was at least one woman in her side of the family who, Mum knew for a fact, had done so. And she suspected a couple of others whose adult lives were mysteriously unaccounted for. I was dumbfounded. I had unknown aunts and older relations who'd been voluntarily enslaved. Maybe it was something of a family tradition, maybe in my genes ...
And, although family members, friends, and neighbours disapproved, Mum wasn't ashamed of her slave kindred. In time she told me, 'If you quite sure, pet, then do what you feel is right for you.' Yes, she even said that she'd be proud of me if I proved to be a fine slave girl. I know she was anxious, partly because of the practical implications of 'losing' me, but she reckoned I'd sell for a good price in the slave market, and she'd invest her share of the proceeds for a comfortable retirement! A true Scot, my Mum is!
(end of chapter 2)
When we're finished, those of us who are owned slaves have to hurry back to our Masters and Mistresses. Dawn will be coming soon; a few more people and vehicles are about, but as I jog along the gutter, a little robin often hops along in front of me. He seems to know me and sees it as his job to lead me back to my Master!
Back at Master's house, the first light of dawn is just appearing. In the short interval between the end of the pre-dawn exercises and the beginning of my daily duties, I take the light breakfast a slavegirl's allowed, my 'pittance' they call it - seeds, nuts and grains, fresh fruit, and a glass of milk. My Master does not spoil me with indulgence, but he ensures that I eat well to maintain health. I am daily thankful for his tender concern. Today, the meal reminds me of my childhood, not much different from my breakfasts back then, though there was more sugar in my cereals. As I thought on those long-ago times, the robin, gaily leading me through the gutter, reminded me of early memories.
Of course, even as a young child, I'd sometimes seen slaves, usually females, in their scanty slave-clothes with neck-collars, arm and leg bands, visible brand-marks on their legs, scuttling along in the gutter with their heads bowed. Mum would say, 'Oh, they're just slaves - they're different from us,' and ignored my persistent questions, Dad seemed to be angry about them, but I didn't know why.
Then came the time when we'd first learnt about cMs in school - it's the policy to 'educate' youngsters about this. Our teacher showed a short video about the life of a typical slave girl. Although the video was meant to be purely factual, the video commentary and our teacher's tone were slanted towards 'warning us off,' expecting us to be shocked by what we saw.
But - I wasn't. It seemed, quite suddenly, to make perfect sense of feelings I'd fought with inside me for a long time without understanding. When at breakfast the next day I came out with it, telling Mum and Dad that I wanted to be a slave girl, there was a short, stunned silence, then Mum burst out laughing and told me to get ready for school. Dad was silent, but it was the silence I was used to when he was really, really angry.
That evening, I got an earful from Dad about 'running away from the real world.' Well, it soon turned out he had issues with the real world himself – it is enough here just to say he ran away from it in his own way.
But Mum seemed more ambivalent. We didn't talk about it for some time, but then, she came to my room to talk one afternoon. She revealed to me that, although she'd never felt drawn to the slave life herself, there was at least one woman in her side of the family who, Mum knew for a fact, had done so. And she suspected a couple of others whose adult lives were mysteriously unaccounted for. I was dumbfounded. I had unknown aunts and older relations who'd been voluntarily enslaved. Maybe it was something of a family tradition, maybe in my genes ...
And, although family members, friends, and neighbours disapproved, Mum wasn't ashamed of her slave kindred. In time she told me, 'If you quite sure, pet, then do what you feel is right for you.' Yes, she even said that she'd be proud of me if I proved to be a fine slave girl. I know she was anxious, partly because of the practical implications of 'losing' me, but she reckoned I'd sell for a good price in the slave market, and she'd invest her share of the proceeds for a comfortable retirement! A true Scot, my Mum is!
(end of chapter 2)
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