Unwanted

When I was a girl, the boys never looked my way, not that I really cared what they thought. It hurt, at least a little, being so... unwanted. I always told myself it didnt matter, that none of that mattered, and I pushed those desires deep down and focused on other things. The other girls called me plain, even ugly, but when the raiders came none of them lasted very long, even the ones who made it to the mine. There's a pride to that, one of the few things I'm allowed to take pride in in this hell.

Unwanted... that takes on a new meaning in a place like this. It means not ending a 16 hour shift by spending 4 more hours getting fucked by whoevers eye you caught that day. It means not having to pull heavy carts while leaking blood and cum from an inflamed arsehole. It means not having some sadist decide you're his favorite and then catching every other whip mark he makes. It means not having someone use you up and when you can barely stand throw you away. It means having your rations plopped in front of you without a second thought rather than having to please a man every day for them, and then going hungry when your aching brutalized body doesnt arouse him enough to deserve food. It means they're much less afraid of breaking my nose, but that's a small price to pay for more rest in one night than some girls get in a week.

There are other downsides too: no one stops whipping me because they're worried how I might scar. No extra rations as a "reward" for sucking some filth encrusted cock. No chance to rest my weary body during a mid day rape. But those are luxuries afforded only to girls who are not long for this world. My body has grown strong and hard without them, and I've lasted almost 20 years in this pit. At least... I'm pretty sure. There's no way to track time down here, but the guards idle chatter give hints. One even let slip the year about a month ago, and so I know I'm almost 40, practically ancient for down here.

40 years, it never gets easier, it just becomes life. The burning in my thighs as I pull a cart laden with black coal, the ache in my back as I put everything I have into the swing of the pickaxes for the 163rd time that day, the agony of my joints as I push the mill in endless circles, and the whip always there no matter what I do, no matter how hard I work, never more than a few minutes away from searing pain cutting through my back. This is life in the mines and age only makes it worse.

There are others like me, some younger, some even older. Unwanted by the guards and so left to labor hour after hour without rest or mercy. I feel a kinship with them, but silence is enforced strictly and without mercy among those with no need to seduce their guards. A word means permanent gagging, a touch means losing that hand, a look of sympathy loses you your eye, and so you can do nothing but hope that the cold glares you sometimes catch are thinking of you but there will never be proof a single one of them has any regard for you. Unwanted, unloved, uncared for, every worthless one of us. True beasts of burden, alive to pull heavy carts laden with coal, to swing pickaxes at unyielding cave walls over and over, to push massive grinding wheels in endless agonized circles; never once afforded the thin scraps of humanity needed to be fuckable. Girls get raped, but we are just dumb beasts.

Some of the girls try anyway, secret nods, gestures, soft words whispered in the dark. They never last long, and the punishment for such a tryst is often long, public, and excruciating. I saw a girl slowly flayed alive in front of her lover who was forcefed parts of her then burned alive. Idiots. Could have spared themselves so much pain, coul have lasted as long as me. Still, for someone, anyone, to find me worth risking that pain for... I dream sometimes of that, of a girl who looks at me, just... looks at me, without the cold revulsion beaten into all of us who make it this far. I sometimes wonder if I had tried, if I had just tried to be known by another girl here, would she look back? Would anyone have ever looked back? Could I have found someone to think about me for even an instant? I'm too old now, old and broken and imcapable of looking at anything without revulsion. I tried once just to see if I could, to give a kind look to a girl who'd barely been here a month, who still wept for home, but all I did was show her what happens when you don't let this place kill you: It turns you into a thing like me. She lept from a high walkway after that, some new guard unchained her for a quick fuck and she took her chance. Smart girl.

It is a far worse thing to grow old in these mines, to go years without seeing the sun. My lungs are black with coal dust and I spend my nights coughing up black and bloody masses. My aches and pains worsen daily and show no signs of reaching a plateau. My skin is pale and rough and sickly, like the blind lizards that sometimes compliment my meals if Im lucky that day. I look at the grey bodies of these young fucked to death slaves and despite my pride at outlasting them, I know they got the real mercy. Their looks rewarded with early deliverance from the mine.

There is no retirement, no reward for a slave like me. My years of unending toil will conclude with a whip cutting through my back until my heart can't take the suffering anymore and stops. I've seen old women dragged from their beds convulsing with fever just so that they die on their feet barely swinging their pickax, no restful death for wretches like us. A lucky few die in their beds but they hid their frailty, most get put on 24 hour work detail once they near the end. Working is what we are for and rest is an allowance only so that we may keep working. The moment rest would mean even potentially dieing with work left unexpected from our weary aching bones, rest is taken away.

Not that retirement is fit for a beast like me. I've done this so long there is nothing else. There has to be nothing else, because if there were? If this could end and there were still other things I could do than pull carts, and swing pickaxes, and push mills? If there were other lives in could live? Lives in the fresh air and sun and and... I couldnt... I cant... no. I've lived 20 years down here, I'm a beast unsuited for freedom. I have to believe that, the alternative is unthinkable.

To spend years like this. Decades even. An unwanted wretch, a worthless tortured thing, a slave with genuinely no other purpose... I really am just a beast of burden... no other creature could live like this, live this long like this. And yet the emptiness won't stop taunting me, hurting me, wasting my water with tears in the night. There is a soul in here that feels and wants and needs, there must be if it hurts this badly. Please... it hurts so much... work me, beat me, treat me like an animal, anything to quiet that pain, that emptiness! 20 years... it never ends... the work never ends the pain never ends the emptiness the beatings the whips the constant affirmations that I am the worthless scum of the earth never end.

I have lived unwanted, unloved, and uncared for and I will die unwanted, unloved, and uncared for. My parents are dead, my village is dead, anyone who could recognize my corpse is dead. I wish I mattered. My only desire, the only thing that aches worse than my old bones. Just one glance from another girl would be enough, just one girl who looks at my corpse when I drop dead and feels anything, even just one guard who likes the way my back contorts when he whips me, and when I die finds himself wishing he had someone to beat like me, even that would be enough.

Please...

Anyone...

I dont want to die unwanted...