ehowton (ehowton) wrote,

Harsh Taskmaster

Dreamed I was a slave, thrown into a life of servitude among other dirty, boys wearing not much more than sackcloth and combat boots. We were in a filthy room in a mansion, with rough hewn bunks and thin mattresses. We cleaned the house, and only afterward did we get to bathe, only the large locker-room type bathroom was even more filthy than our bunk room, and it repulsed me. I tried to clean both of the layers of grime while the other slaves were out.

Eventually, my charming wit caught the eye of the owner's wife, and my load lightened. My high intellect kept her engaged in conversation all day, and eventually I got to interact with the owner himself, a busy, quiet man. From the great room where I was now allowed (cleaning still, to be sure, but mostly keeping the wife company - a much more pleasant task than the other indoor workers) I could see from the enormous window overlooking his entire area of ownership; men working the field, men hewing and carrying stone, men working heavy machinery. Men of all sizes, with large misshapen heads and thin, boney arms and legs attired in sackcloth the lot of them. I was horrified, but kept my opinion to myself else I suffer the same fate.

I was busy primping and prepping for a party the owner was hosting - once a year he brought the closest of his trusted staff into the inner-sanctum for an evening of laughter and libation, plying the men with liquor in an appeal to appear benevolent. I accompanied him across the green fields and over the rough, orange rock to a locked outbuilding containing boxes of spirits. As we carted them back to the house, large muscled, bald men covered with tattoos and wielding severely curved half-moon scimitars wearing brightly colored tunics could be seen though a shadowed cropping of rocks which created a sort of natural passageway. The owner and several of the other spirit-carting men went to them where a quickly-escalating confrontation took place. I simply kept to the path back to the house, albeit a touch quicker.

When the owner returned with the tattooed men, I realized this was his army, his guard - and they were Gurkha. I was just beginning to see how brilliant a man this harsh taskmaster was, this busy, busy, brilliant man, my owner. I approached to share with him the wisdom of my knowledge, knowing he could turn on me at any time if I said the wrong thing.
Tags: dreams

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