Status: It's only getting started...
Cleo
Origin - Caged
Cleo was jarred awake as she bounced up and down on the hard surface beneath her. It was thick steel, and she was being carried in the back of a truck. Her hands went to her face, where thick leather covered her mouth in a muzzle. She reached behind her and felt the cold steel of a padlock closing it on her. She tried to steady herself as the vehicle she was being carried in bounced in another puddle, making a ruckus as she did so, and she caught the attention of the drivers. The truck stopped suddenly, sending her skidding across the floor of the cage she was in. Her mind still foggy, she looked around. She was in a small cage, one meant to contain a wild animal. The two men driving the vehicle got out of the cab and made their way to the back of the truck. When they got into view, Cleo shrunk into the corner, covering her head with her hands and burying her head in her knees. She whimpered as the cage shook. The man shaking it shook it harder, dislodging Cleo and making her remove her hands from her head to steady herself. She stared, frightened into the eyes of her abductors. The one shaking the cage had beady little eyes like those of a rat. He was skinny and had a pack of cigarettes sticking out of his jacket breast pocket. He coughed a smoker's cough and turned to his companion, who was significantly bigger and had a stern squint in his eyes. The skinny one pointed at Cleo and made a noise similar to his laugh previous, as a question of understood humour. The big one just crossed his arms and turned to look sternly at the skinny one. Cleo watched in frozen fear as the skinny one shook the cage again, ensuring her attention as he unfolded a recent newspaper, placing it against the cage bars for her to see.
"You speak English?" Cleo did not respond. "A'right. Fine. But you're going to make us a pretty penny. YOU'RE famous." He gestured to the paper, which was titled POLICE SUSPECT MURDER IN SNAKE BITE VICTIMS. "Word is, there's a rather long trail of bodies behind you. At first the coppers thought it was a snakey. But apparently the bites were too big. Too high up. Could'nuv been a little snakey. So either there's a new breed of some big ass snakeys 'round here, or it was murder." He pronounced it 'mahdur'. He grinned, showing off his yellow ferret teeth, and put the paper away. "It's quite the read. Too bad they have it all wrong. See, now we's found the little snakey, we know just the people who would love to dissect you. Don't look so frightened, love. We ain't selling you out to the coppers. We think you'll like it much better where you're going." The two men went back to the cab, the skinny one banging his hand on the side of the cage as he walked by. Cleo scampered to the door before the truck rumbled to life again, grabbing and shaking the metal bars, but they were locked in place. She looked desperately at her surroundings; dark trees and a dirt road. The only light came from the front of the truck, where the headlights blasted forward. It was cold and dark and damp and Cleo had no idea where she was or where she was going this time. She had so desperately wished to be dead and yet she lived on. She fell down in tears as the truck roared to life, and Cleo was being driven further down the dirt road to nowhere. She let the tears fall down her dirty face as she bumped and jumped, head resting against the bars as she imagined what new hell she was being sold to.
Behind her the two men sat in the cab of the truck. The skinny one sat in the passenger seat laughing at himself as he told a joke. He guffawed and gave the big guy a smack on the arm as the truck rumbled down the road heading into the dark, the driver passing a stern stare at his companion as it did so.
--
When Cleo next awoke she was in a different cage. This one had thick cement walls and thick steel rods at the door. There was a prison bed in the corner that looked as if it had been set on fire previously because it was blackened with soot. Next to the bed there was a small pot emitting the foul odour of urine and one unfamiliar voice echoed in from the gaps in the bars.
"I don't care. I'm not paying you that much." The voice of the skinny guy from the truck came following.
"But this 'un's a real gem! She's got that long, pretty hair and her nose ain't been broken on the ride this time." He returned to nibbling his fingers as he had been before, making a noise like a small rodent chewing on a piece of wood as his teeth clacked against his gnarled nails.¬ “And she`s famous. You should see the papers up in Canada. Obsessin’”
"I don’t care. She's not a ten and I will not pay you for a ten. She's just too old. Besides, that only makes her all the more dangerous. You'll get two thousand for her. Nothing more. Now be gone." The little guy, frustrated, snatched the check out of the older man's hands, and the big guy then took it from the little one. The two walked out, silently arguing with each other as the older man stepped towards her. "Ah. You're awake. Good. I'm sorry you had to be unconscious upon your entry here, but our safety demanded it. Now, first things first. I don't care who you are or what you call yourself, while you are here you will be called only by your identification number issued upon your arrival. Yours is B150-8. “150” is your cell number. That is the cell you are in right now. “B” is your identification letter. Only one other girl has lived in your cell. “A” was quite difficult to sell. Loud; defiant. Finally, “8” is your value to me. Your stay here will only last as long as it takes to find you a buyer. And believe me, darling, for you it won’t take long at all.
“Now there are a few rules you will have to abide to during your stay. There will be no yelling, screaming, or shouting. You are not to reach through the bars of your cell under any circumstances. You will not ask anybody here their names, nor are you allowed to tell anybody yours. You must not do any damage to the furnishings in your cell. As you can see, one girl attempted to escape by setting that bed on fire. Well, let’s just stay she never escaped and she was punished…severely. Which brings me to my next point. Escape is futile and if you try, you and any of your other comrades will be punished physically, no matter how much it may lower your potential value to me. I will not tolerate resistance. And you would be surprised how many people will pay for a little girl paralyzed from the neck down. With that, I welcome you to the Runaway House, home for young girls, like yourself, who run away from home. You may call me “Master” or “Sir” and nothing else. Good night.”
The man then turned away from Cleo, folded his hands neatly behind him, and walked with a joyous bounce as he silently hummed a song in his head. He walked down the long aisle of cell doors just like Cleo’s, behind which were many girls just like Cleo. Most of them were younger than Cleo, but the few older ones looked a bit more dishevelled than the others, as if they had been there a lot longer than the others. But from the very edge of Cleo’s cell, head pressed right against the bars looking both left and right, Cleo could only see into the cell directly opposite her and the two, each on either side, of that one. Opposite her, a young girl with long, dark hair sat just on the edge of the shadow of her cell, inching forward when the man left. She silently crept forward and put her hands on the bars, eyes locked with Cleo’s, staring with frightened curiosity. Cleo wiped away the single tear streaming down her cheek. She paused to clear her throat as quietly as she possibly could, then whispered to the young girl.
“Who are you?” The girl looked hard at the ground beneath her, refusing to answer. The girl to her left turned her head toward Cleo and cracked a tiny smile
“You really don’t listen that well, do you?” Cleo looked over to her. “He already told you that we’re not supposed to know eachother’s names.” The girl was around ten, blonde, and had a large gash on her nose where it had been recently broken. The young girl in front of Cleo still sat, emotionless, in her cell, but the girl to her right, who was closer to Cleo’s age was leaning, weak, against her bars. Her hair was tangled and ratty. Her arms hung limp at her sides and she was covered in a layer of dirt. Her underwear was visible where her dress was ripped off around her hips, dirty and torn. There were spots of blood near the bottom of it and her feet were swollen and red. Her legs, which were mostly exposed, were thin and boney. Cleo turned back to the young girl, around eight, in front of her.
“Where are we?” The blonde girl played with a lock her hair before answering.
“Somewhere in Washington.”
“Washington STATE?” Cleo accidentally raised her voice and all the girls immediately silenced and some skittered to hide in the shadows of their cells. When it was clear that the man was not returning, the blonde girl returned to her bars so that Cleo could see her properly.
“Yeah, Washington State.” She spoke in a whisper. “You’re…not from around here, are you? How far are you from home?” The word “Home” echoed in her head and she grimaced. It brought a pain to her, deep in her chest, and she saw again the young girl with dark hair still cowering in the darkness of her cell. The whites of her eyes stood out, but her dark eyes and her dark hair were lost in the darkness, contrasted by her fair skin. The image brought back a memory in her head, of a little girl, around eight, sitting on her bed, humming a song and colouring with crayons as Cleo watched over her, dark hair falling over the young girl’s face. She saw something familiar, and frighteningly so, in the girl’s eyes. Cleo slumped a bit, and tears began to well up in her eyes again.
“I’m in an entirely different country.” The small blonde girl, tiny as she was, young as she was, with all her naivety still intact, asked “Isn’t anybody going to come looking for you? Looking for us?”
After that, silence. No one said anything. There was only the sound like a quiet gust of wind that came from the cell to the right, from the girl defeated and tired, leaning on the bars of her cell.
“Eventually they all stop looking.”
That girl never said another word.
"You speak English?" Cleo did not respond. "A'right. Fine. But you're going to make us a pretty penny. YOU'RE famous." He gestured to the paper, which was titled POLICE SUSPECT MURDER IN SNAKE BITE VICTIMS. "Word is, there's a rather long trail of bodies behind you. At first the coppers thought it was a snakey. But apparently the bites were too big. Too high up. Could'nuv been a little snakey. So either there's a new breed of some big ass snakeys 'round here, or it was murder." He pronounced it 'mahdur'. He grinned, showing off his yellow ferret teeth, and put the paper away. "It's quite the read. Too bad they have it all wrong. See, now we's found the little snakey, we know just the people who would love to dissect you. Don't look so frightened, love. We ain't selling you out to the coppers. We think you'll like it much better where you're going." The two men went back to the cab, the skinny one banging his hand on the side of the cage as he walked by. Cleo scampered to the door before the truck rumbled to life again, grabbing and shaking the metal bars, but they were locked in place. She looked desperately at her surroundings; dark trees and a dirt road. The only light came from the front of the truck, where the headlights blasted forward. It was cold and dark and damp and Cleo had no idea where she was or where she was going this time. She had so desperately wished to be dead and yet she lived on. She fell down in tears as the truck roared to life, and Cleo was being driven further down the dirt road to nowhere. She let the tears fall down her dirty face as she bumped and jumped, head resting against the bars as she imagined what new hell she was being sold to.
Behind her the two men sat in the cab of the truck. The skinny one sat in the passenger seat laughing at himself as he told a joke. He guffawed and gave the big guy a smack on the arm as the truck rumbled down the road heading into the dark, the driver passing a stern stare at his companion as it did so.
--
When Cleo next awoke she was in a different cage. This one had thick cement walls and thick steel rods at the door. There was a prison bed in the corner that looked as if it had been set on fire previously because it was blackened with soot. Next to the bed there was a small pot emitting the foul odour of urine and one unfamiliar voice echoed in from the gaps in the bars.
"I don't care. I'm not paying you that much." The voice of the skinny guy from the truck came following.
"But this 'un's a real gem! She's got that long, pretty hair and her nose ain't been broken on the ride this time." He returned to nibbling his fingers as he had been before, making a noise like a small rodent chewing on a piece of wood as his teeth clacked against his gnarled nails.¬ “And she`s famous. You should see the papers up in Canada. Obsessin’”
"I don’t care. She's not a ten and I will not pay you for a ten. She's just too old. Besides, that only makes her all the more dangerous. You'll get two thousand for her. Nothing more. Now be gone." The little guy, frustrated, snatched the check out of the older man's hands, and the big guy then took it from the little one. The two walked out, silently arguing with each other as the older man stepped towards her. "Ah. You're awake. Good. I'm sorry you had to be unconscious upon your entry here, but our safety demanded it. Now, first things first. I don't care who you are or what you call yourself, while you are here you will be called only by your identification number issued upon your arrival. Yours is B150-8. “150” is your cell number. That is the cell you are in right now. “B” is your identification letter. Only one other girl has lived in your cell. “A” was quite difficult to sell. Loud; defiant. Finally, “8” is your value to me. Your stay here will only last as long as it takes to find you a buyer. And believe me, darling, for you it won’t take long at all.
“Now there are a few rules you will have to abide to during your stay. There will be no yelling, screaming, or shouting. You are not to reach through the bars of your cell under any circumstances. You will not ask anybody here their names, nor are you allowed to tell anybody yours. You must not do any damage to the furnishings in your cell. As you can see, one girl attempted to escape by setting that bed on fire. Well, let’s just stay she never escaped and she was punished…severely. Which brings me to my next point. Escape is futile and if you try, you and any of your other comrades will be punished physically, no matter how much it may lower your potential value to me. I will not tolerate resistance. And you would be surprised how many people will pay for a little girl paralyzed from the neck down. With that, I welcome you to the Runaway House, home for young girls, like yourself, who run away from home. You may call me “Master” or “Sir” and nothing else. Good night.”
The man then turned away from Cleo, folded his hands neatly behind him, and walked with a joyous bounce as he silently hummed a song in his head. He walked down the long aisle of cell doors just like Cleo’s, behind which were many girls just like Cleo. Most of them were younger than Cleo, but the few older ones looked a bit more dishevelled than the others, as if they had been there a lot longer than the others. But from the very edge of Cleo’s cell, head pressed right against the bars looking both left and right, Cleo could only see into the cell directly opposite her and the two, each on either side, of that one. Opposite her, a young girl with long, dark hair sat just on the edge of the shadow of her cell, inching forward when the man left. She silently crept forward and put her hands on the bars, eyes locked with Cleo’s, staring with frightened curiosity. Cleo wiped away the single tear streaming down her cheek. She paused to clear her throat as quietly as she possibly could, then whispered to the young girl.
“Who are you?” The girl looked hard at the ground beneath her, refusing to answer. The girl to her left turned her head toward Cleo and cracked a tiny smile
“You really don’t listen that well, do you?” Cleo looked over to her. “He already told you that we’re not supposed to know eachother’s names.” The girl was around ten, blonde, and had a large gash on her nose where it had been recently broken. The young girl in front of Cleo still sat, emotionless, in her cell, but the girl to her right, who was closer to Cleo’s age was leaning, weak, against her bars. Her hair was tangled and ratty. Her arms hung limp at her sides and she was covered in a layer of dirt. Her underwear was visible where her dress was ripped off around her hips, dirty and torn. There were spots of blood near the bottom of it and her feet were swollen and red. Her legs, which were mostly exposed, were thin and boney. Cleo turned back to the young girl, around eight, in front of her.
“Where are we?” The blonde girl played with a lock her hair before answering.
“Somewhere in Washington.”
“Washington STATE?” Cleo accidentally raised her voice and all the girls immediately silenced and some skittered to hide in the shadows of their cells. When it was clear that the man was not returning, the blonde girl returned to her bars so that Cleo could see her properly.
“Yeah, Washington State.” She spoke in a whisper. “You’re…not from around here, are you? How far are you from home?” The word “Home” echoed in her head and she grimaced. It brought a pain to her, deep in her chest, and she saw again the young girl with dark hair still cowering in the darkness of her cell. The whites of her eyes stood out, but her dark eyes and her dark hair were lost in the darkness, contrasted by her fair skin. The image brought back a memory in her head, of a little girl, around eight, sitting on her bed, humming a song and colouring with crayons as Cleo watched over her, dark hair falling over the young girl’s face. She saw something familiar, and frighteningly so, in the girl’s eyes. Cleo slumped a bit, and tears began to well up in her eyes again.
“I’m in an entirely different country.” The small blonde girl, tiny as she was, young as she was, with all her naivety still intact, asked “Isn’t anybody going to come looking for you? Looking for us?”
After that, silence. No one said anything. There was only the sound like a quiet gust of wind that came from the cell to the right, from the girl defeated and tired, leaning on the bars of her cell.
“Eventually they all stop looking.”
That girl never said another word.