One by one the ‘chain gang’ begins the daily tasks assigned to us all. My feet scratch against the burning earth while I carry a block of that earth in my hands. A brick made from the fine sand of this desert… Oh joy.

The duties so kindly assigned to us slaves are often construction jobs. For these tasks, I was often throwing dead bodies that have either been ‘overused’ or died from thirst or hunger into a huge pit. The huge pit that has seemingly come from nowhere is in fact a place that was recently dug by the chain gang.

As of now, I am currently layering bricks over the top of this pit to hide the bodies. The reason for being given this job is due to my seniority in the ‘chain gang’. Safer jobs are equal to status in this group of mine.

I continue my walk across the compound, slavers often making jeers at my unnatural coloring for a human being. I often make comparisons between the slavers and me, the color of my skin being the only obvious difference.  Thinking on such topics usually leads nowhere, as I often discovered when I end up slamming into buildings or slavers. I snap out of my reverie and focus on my destination. I don’t want to be added to the pile.

A boy younger than I by a few years, give or take a couple, is sitting on the ground with bricks stacked up around him. He currently has a brick in his hand, and is molding it with earth magic he has learned outside the compound, when he was still free. Tears flow down his face only to evaporate when they fall. The heat is something I handled with time, despite other slaves having trouble even after a few years.

He is not the youngest in the compound though, despite his natural youthful face and blond hair that hung by the side of his face, uncut and unkempt. His nose is not pointed in the slightest, and is ‘girlish’, according to slavers who jeer at him. If I had to consider anyone in the compound as a comrade, this would be the guy. I don’t often lump him with our group, as for some bizarre reason, he is never trekking the desert with my group.

Since no slaves have names, I go by the most descriptive thing I can think of when coming to him.

I place my foot in front of his brick fort, and he looks up. His clear blue eyes reflect my red visage, with my (attempted) grin.

“Blondie, I’m looking forward to tonight.” He looks slightly disturbed at my statement, as if it is meant to mean something else. His face grows even redder, most likely due to the sun.

I tilt my head to the side, as the lingo I just used was for a gathering of slaves. To put it into better terms, a council. We may be slaves, but most of us here were not before.

“Y-yeah.”

He nods and resumes his magicking. The sand neatly folding in upon itself, being manipulated into a brick shape tinted with red by the sand. I bend down with my knees and pick up a brick from his fort, and I turn around and begin my short walk to the half-finished wall. I best finish before slavers decide to descend like carrion birds.

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Night came along at a lizard’s pace, or as the saying goes. The night life is something to be feared, and all the slavers begin to crack their whips to signal the round up for the night. I place the last brick down in a hurry, just about knocking over my almost-finished wall.

I know there will be repercussions, but sometimes the impossible is really impossible to accomplish within a certain amount of time. I don’t want to be left behind, so I hurriedly begin a light jog to the enclosed group. Seeming as if I am walking, I slide right between a cracking whip and a young slave, taking the whip lash in his place.

“Huh? Move aside slave, unless you want another. There is no point to playing hero here. Gwahaha!”

The slavers laugh seems to echo in my ear as I correct my mistake. I move away from the back of the young boy as the cracking sound of the whip can be heard. I journey to the center of the group, the laughter of the slavers still echoing in my ear.  The scream of the stricken boy still fresh in my mind.

The slaves around me huddle like sheep, and like sheep we are prodded into our little abode. My height is above everyone else’s, and I begin to maneuver my way through the herd of sweaty bodies. Step by step, the crowd begins to lessen, and I begin to steer my path towards a corner with a higher stack of hay than anywhere else in the room.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

I stand in front of the unusual pile of hay, and look over my shoulders to see if any slavers have come down to inspect or prospect. The coast remains clear, and I turn my attention back to the haystack.

“One two, I’m coming in.”

“Three Four the doors are closed.”

The reply I received is the passcode use group of slaves came up with. Although I have to wonder as to why anyone had to answer back for the catchphrase. It isn’t like anyone would purposely become a slave.

I reach into the haystack with my hand, and then I am in a deep dark place. Mostly because I was just yanked in like I was attacked, and because our hideout is there.

If someone wondered as to how there could possibly be a hideout in a big pile of hay, the question would be where it would be.

This place was formed unnaturally by the slave specialist of earth magic, Blondie. From the simple appearance of a haystack, a huge hole under it can and is hidden from sight. The hideout is nothing special to note though, it reminds me of a rabbits den, except we have light pouring in from very miniscule holes above us. In the hideout is a few seats/mounds made from earth that allows everyone important to gather.

This room is an absolute secret though, and the cost of it is to have two others join in on my secret. Blondie and another kid I call Blanco, because his appearance is rather lacking. He almost doesn’t stand out, but he is just about as old as I am. His hair is black, and his eyes never reflect light, despite them being a vibrant green. He is skinny to the point of showing bones, and by his personality he likes to make a point of showing them off.

What a guy.

The duo of secrets look at me as I land in the middle of our den, the hideout. I give them a look and get off my butt, brushing the sandy dirt and dry hay. The smell of hay lingers on my arms and I screw my nose at the smell. I wonder as to how many bodies slept in that pile? No matter, it will not matter in the future. I walk over to the duo, their green and blue eyes following my every movement.

I brush the seat out of habit and sit my rump down. Uncomfortable, as always. I look at Blondie, then at Blanco. They continue to stare, waiting for the reason as to why I called them for a meeting. I smile, not trying to let a wicked smile screw up the trust between us.

“You are probably wondering as to why I asked for a meeting?”

Silence is their answer. I cough in a raised hand, and I keep up my smile. Play it cool.

“Let this be the last meeting we have down here.” Their eyebrows rise at my statement, and their faces begin to look stern, as still as stone.

“It’s time for our revolt to come. Tomorrow is the day the new slaves are brought in. Tomorrow” I look at the two directly in their eyes.

“We will roll the dice of fate.”

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This is the author. I tried to make the chapter satisfactory in my eyes, as the original plan was a load of bull. No more OP, this guy is working his way up, albeit an odd route. It feels short, but the next chapter should be done next week. I have the game plan, no worries haha...

Tell me if I should make the paragraphs shorter to make it easier to read. I don't know if big blocky text is the way to go...

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