Under His Rule (His 1)

Inside, there are bunk beds to the side, a table with four chairs in the middle, and to the right is a small counter with a sink and a basket next to it, while long lights hang from the ceiling, illuminating the place.

Is this a house?

“This is your hut. You’ll be staying here along with the others.”

“Others?” I mutter as I turn around, but the door is closed on me before I receive an answer. The sound of the lock being turned makes my stomach churn.

I stand there for a second, taking in my surroundings and trying to get used to a different space. I’m no longer confined to the darkness, no longer naked and in pain.

But this is still a cage. An upgraded cage, but a cage nonetheless.

Still, I can’t help making use of the amenities, as I turn open the faucet and immediately stick my entire face under it. The cold water rushing over my cheeks and into my mouth is riveting and revitalizing, and I gobble up every last drop until my thirst is quenched.

I wipe my mouth on the white dress and walk toward the closet. Let’s see if there’s something else I can wear in here. I open it up and stare in disbelief. Only more of the same of what I’m already wearing; all white dresses and caps and black booties to match.

I sigh and shut the doors again, and I open each closet and cabinet I can find until I find something. An apple sits in the back of the kitchen cabinet, red and shiny. I have to stand on my toes to take it out. It looks so appetizing in my hands, and it makes my mouth water.

So I take a big, hearty bite.

The sourness and sweetness combine into an explosion of tastes that I’ve craved for so long.

In the cell, I was fed only bread and water, and now that I’ve finally had something else, I feel like I could cry. What one apple can do for a girl.

I swallow down the piece and stare at the markings on the apple, the shape of my teeth sunken into its flesh, and I suddenly wonder why there was a single apple lying in the top shelf.

If it was put there on purpose … another test.

My eyes widen. The apple falls out of my hand, drops onto the floor, and rolls underneath the table.

Right then, someone pries at the locked door again. In a panic, I grab a small tablecloth and throw it over the apple. I don’t know why I’m so desperate for them not to find out. Why I’m so afraid of punishment. Maybe I’ve already been trained to submit without me realizing it.

The same woman from before, Gertrude, opens the door and steps inside. She takes a look at the room and narrows her eyes at the cloth, then at me. I swallow hard.

She walks to me and stares me down before bending over to grab the apple hiding underneath the cloth. She inspects it in a way that almost makes me feel violated just for taking a bite.

A tepid smile forms on her lips, and she tucks the apple into a bag that’s strapped to the side of her dress. “Come with me now.”

She turns around and walks off, but my eyes can’t help but land on the Taser right beside her bag and how it’s always a reminder that I’m not doing any of this because I want to, but because I have no choice.

I’m still their prisoner, whether they dress me or feed me, and I shouldn’t ever forget that.

We walk down the stone path to another building right in the middle of the camp. I don’t know if this is a camp or not, or what else to call it. The Holy Land, perhaps?

The people here flock around me, checking me out as though I’m livestock going on sale soon. It creeps me out and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Gertrude abruptly stops. “No dawdling.” She eyes me down and then points at a building up ahead. “Over there.”

I wait, but she does too, so I take a step and another one until I’m the one walking in front. The threat of her weapon is always looming in the background, reminding me of the fact that it’s impossible to get away.

As I get close to the door, it opens without me having to even touch it. A woman stands in the door opening, dressed in the same clothes as I am, and she says, “Welcome to school.”

School?

I haven’t been to school in ages, and I wasn’t planning to go back.

Gertrude pokes me in the back with a stick. “Go on.”

I reluctantly walk inside. There are benches everywhere, and in the back of the room, there’s a white cloth hanging from the wall, and an old projector sits in front of it.