Karma is the power the universe provides to balance social interactions. For example, a bully knocks the drink out of our hands with that sneer and callous laugh that facilitates rising anger in our gut. We, however, are the polite ‘nice guy’ so instead of lashing out with that anger we stamp down on it crushing it back down into the depths as we watch their retreating back. Karma is the concept that allows us to entertain that little smirk as we contemplate all the nasty things in their future because of the karmic energy that has just been created between us and them. The energy that will bring the same or worse fate to them one day as surely as a fat man will hoard sugary treats. That is the great idea of karma. It is the great equalizer! One sentient does something good or bad to another? Karma comes into play as the release of energy that latches onto a person’s soul, for lack of a better way to say it, allowing for the same to eventually, whether in this life or our next, come back around. It is the idea that energy never ceases to exist, only changes form and moves into new areas.

I know what you are thinking. If karma is a real principle in the universe, why would anyone do anything bad to anyone else knowing it will eventually come back on them. That is the thing though, isn't it? Not everyone accepts karma as a fundamental law of the universe. So, let’s have a look at the facts, shall we? By facts, I mean a real law that is provable and can be seen by anyone who can put two thoughts together.

In its simplest form, this principle called the law of conservation of energy, or the law of thermodynamics, which it later came to be called. Originally, it was studied by human scientists in the 19th century. This law stated that energy is neither created nor destroyed, only changed. Everything we know about energy and its manipulation can be ascribed to this fundamental principle that humans barely scratched the surface of until much later. The law outlines only the most basic understanding of what we know today. By that I mean we have vastly improved our understanding of this universal law over the many years since we first laid out the possibility of this law being a thing. Today the principle of energy transfusion can be applied to everything in our daily lives from the food we eat to the starships traveling the stars. This includes the social energy we have dubbed karma that allows for the transference of energy among social encounters much the same way a punch can transfer pain through kinetic force to our face. Whether a person allows them to believe it or not is on them. Truthfully, not many out there understand this law well enough to give it much more than a passing thought. The ones who do are truly dangerous and you should avoid them at all costs.

This is all well and good as it allows for even the weakest among us to fight back against those bullies that always seem to pop up even in the politest society. Hell, it even works for that jerk who always seems to be able to say the right thing to make us look bad in front of the cute guy we are flirting with. Karma allows us to take the good with the bad and move on with the expectation that one day they will get theirs. One day, those bullies will endure all that negative energy they transferred as it is pulled back toward them. Run as they might that energy will always find its way back in one form or another.

That being said, my question is this. What the hell kind of asshole was I in the past lives I lived that I deserve to be sold to a sadistic asshole who wants to learn about human anatomy by dissecting live subjects?

My screams echo throughout the sparse grey chamber that I have been in for some time. Be more specific you say? How long exactly have you been there you ask? Well, when next you are being cut open and have things being ripped out of you; when next those muscles, bones, and even organs are examined by one of those aliens we call a 'lollipop' on account of their thin stick-like bodies and big round heads that change colors depending on their mood. Well then, and only then, will you understand how very difficult it is to keep track of the minutes, hours, and days in these circumstances. I know only one way to keep track of time here; the number of torture sessions.

In the cell they put me between sessions, I have this pebble. It is a damn, beautiful pebble if I do say so myself. It is the color of darkest night and about the size of my thumbnail, almost perfectly round except for a slightly flat surface on one side that helps make gripping it between two fingers as easy as pie. Seeing as it is the only possession I have to my name since they cut my clothes off during my very first session on that table it is just about the most beautiful thing in the universe. With this pebble, I can make the slightest of scratches on the wall to keep a tally. With the days blurring together I cannot use that as a measure of time anymore. Between the screaming that wakes me from my too-short slumbers, my own sessions of torture, and the infrequent and irregular times which I am fed and watered I have found only one sure way to hold to any sense of time whatsoever. So, I tally how many times I have been to that horrible grey lifeless room with two tables. Every additional tally allows me to savor a victory of surviving yet again.

The only concept of time I have left is those tallies. So, count them if you want an idea of how long I have been here. That is how many times they have pulled me out of the shithole I call my cell to put me on that metal table that is so damn cold on my bare skin. Always next to me there is that second table. A table that is full of instruments that instill horror as they are all designed to cut me open. That horror runs deep throughout my entire being as; while I am at my most vulnerable, with my very skin pulled back to reveal what is underneath, they yank things out of me. Yes, I said yank things out of me! They slice open my skin, pulling it back, so they can dig inside and find something to pull out. I can feel them pushing, pulling, and cutting until they find a part of me that they find interesting only to yank it out and examine it while I watch writhing in pain and horror!

Knowing this makes the topic of how long I have been trapped in this infernal cycle of pain and more pain matter very little to me. Concepts of time tend to lose all meaning amidst horrors and pains as numerous as I have had to endure. Does anyone really care how long this has been happening to me? After the first time, all I cared about was making it stop. You better believe I tried. I would have done anything if only it would stop. Only, how do you make someone stop torturing you when they are doing it out of sheer enjoyment? YES! You heard me right. This lollipop enjoyed my pain. I could see the shivers of ecstasy run through his body, his eyes alight with pleasure. His head would shift to brighter hues of red and yellow the louder I screamed. Even though I knew no one would care about how many times this happened, tally and keep track is exactly what I did. Every time they took me to that table I endured, waiting for that glorious moment when I could add another tally to my wall. It was my only reason for living now. For I had come to realize a truth.

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This was something that would only end when I gave up the ghost and allowed myself to die. That would bring me sweet relief except, I would be dead while my opponent would only find themselves in need of another live body. At that point, this sadistic stick of cosmic slime would just find another poor soul that he could practice his depravations on. He had been doing this for years after all. No one had ever come back, while dozens had been sent. If I died here, it would only result in another taking my place. This slime ball full of sadistic hormones would just find someone else to practice his perversions on. Possibly even someone I knew or cared for. Not that there are many I cared for in my life. I wasn’t the most likable of people back home, far from it actually. But the thought of me conceding defeat and letting this asshole win and start the game over with yet another person, maybe even a child this time? That thought chilled me right down to my core. A chill that ran deeper than the chill of the table on my bare skin or the stone floor of my cell. That is the feeling that provided the motivation to endure beyond what I thought possible to endure. I knew I would never be called a saint. As I said, I wasn’t a likable person in the best of times. I had never followed all the rules placed upon us. I have never been considered the most helpful of people. I was always more than my fair share of selfish. I have gotten through life by doing only the bare minimum. I was also generally considered a whiner and complainer. I admit that those things are true and provide a good reason for me to be the one voted into this ugly assignment. Every tally on that wall was me signifying to myself that while I may not be the most likable person, I was still not going to let this game end on a lollipop's terms. I wasn’t going to let that creature beat me and start anew on another. The only way it would end was when I decided. That is why I lived for that beautiful pebble that was the only instrument available to me in this convoluted war.

When it comes right down to it the truth is, whining and complaining are what got me into this mess in the first place. I was an undesirable in my assigned community. A person that they could do without. Even more, a person they wanted to do without. So, when the greasy little administrator of our community showed up telling us it was time for another to be sent off to work on a special project that would be unpleasant but rewarding. An assignment that would provide concessions to our entire village, all we could do was vote on who to send seeing as no one was going to volunteer for an assignment that no one had ever returned from before.

What kind of concessions do you ask? Probably a new pickaxe, or shovel. If they were extremely lucky, they could have received a reduced quota for a week or two allowing them to go home and see their families for more time. What matters most I now have something that has elevated me above all that. Even though those people sold me into torture for a slight profit. Think I am being too harsh on them? Well, you are probably right. Scratch that, you are right. I am being harsh. It is just the torture speaking. When I am laying exhausted in my cell and take time to think about it, I can never find it in myself to blame them.

None of us knew that this is what awaited those given to the regional head. All we knew is that he desired people for a special project that he said would not be fun but would come with concessions for the entire community. What was unsaid and yet made ever so clear was that those communities that did not provide anyone would not enjoy the consequences. So, we sent people. We all voted and those with the most votes were sent for this project. All very democratic-like. I participated in these votes just as many times as everyone else. So no, I don't blame them. Until that is, I am on that cold metal table for another session. When I watch that sadistic lollipop picking up his sharp tools, I lose all reason and curse those who voted for me. Only then with yet another muscle being torn from my flesh do I blame them. As I said, it is the torture speaking.

Yes, I said we! Yes, I said we had sent dozens! Even though we knew they never came back we still voted to send more. No, I never stood up and said anything against it! I voted just like everyone else all the while telling ourselves that we were not at fault. What else were we to do? We all ignored the facts right in front of us. Putting the karma onto the administrator’s back was easier than accepting responsibility for those we voted out. If we had known what would happen to those poor schmucks. If we had known that sending them to the lollipop would be to send them to this hellhole. If we had known, I am still sure we would not have done anything differently. Though, we might have been more selective in who we sent. However, what is a slave to do? We were sent to work, so work we did. We all had our own problems to deal with. If our quotas were not met, then we wouldn’t be allowed to see or feed our families. Worse yet, the potential for sterilization was always looming. The fact that we could become a noncontributing member of our race and its survival was a huge motivational factor to keep our heads down and meet our quota.

We could have appealed to the government you say. Did you not hear me say we are slaves? Let me reiterate for the slow among you, WE ARE SLAVES. As in the entire human race enslaved by outsiders from the stars. The lollipops are not even the worst ones. See, the lollipops are slaves as well. Only, they have gained enough status to be deemed worthy of having their own slaves. Slaves with slaves with slaves. That is how the galaxy is. All the way up to the original slavers that we have been told to call the ‘First Race’ since they are the first ones to comprehend that the laws of energy in the universe can be manipulated to make themselves more powerful. Here is the best part; if we had kept to ourselves and not sent our damned colony ships out into the universe, they might never have found us. We made contact with them. Funny how things work out isn’t it?