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Damien sighed, staring out the window of the factory. At least it had been a window. Now it was little more than a hole, it’s edges charred by the fire.
Hell, the whole place was a hole.
A ****ing hole in a hole. Can things get any better?
It seemed not. They had been out of the sperm farm a few days already and nothing seemed to ever get any better. Indeed, it seemed it only got worse. More and more he noticed his fellows, and himself, thinking back on those dark days.
Insomnia.
Nightmares.
In some form or the other they came. Damien figured that no matter what happened those times would forever be a plague on their memories.
His eyes fell to the ground and spied what had once been part of a silky number, one he wouldn’t have minded seeing and then not-seeing on a woman once upon a time.
Unlike his fellow escapees Damien had still been in university when the whole damn thing happened. He had seen the signs but he hadn’t taken much stock in it. Chicks in university always get obsessed with something be it vegetarianism or protesting poor animals. He had figured the whole feminazi thing was a new trend to die out the next day.
How wrong he had been. How wrong.
He massaged feeling into his balls. The cold night air was taking its toll on the things, weakened as they were from being pumped of their juices.
There would be revenge. Oh yes indeed.
But how? This was the question they had all asked each other. They were but a few men when practically every woman was against them. While in his cell he had heard rumours whispered between his wardens of underground groups of women who liked being dominated and bossed around. Whether it was a fantasy created to instil hope in the captives or a true thing, Damien figured that this was perhaps their avenue.
Or it could be a trap. His recent experiences with women had hardened his opinions of them. Where once he would strike compliment after well-placed compliment on them, he now could not think of them without feeling a build-up of vomit in his throat
How he wished Orwell had wrote a book on this situation so he could consult all possibilities.
He crouched himself in a corner, slouching so his arms went around his knees and tried to keep his warmth. It was a habit he had picked up in the small-confined cells and that kind of habit is hard to kill. |
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