Judge Ordered Slavery

Tears began to form in my eyes. It wasn't just my clothes. My violin, my laptop, pictures of my girlfriends past and present, even a couple of my trophies were visible in the pile.

"What are you waiting for, slaves don't have possessions. The Ryan you were 24 hours ago will be long forgotten soon. This will help you remember what you are now." His voice was patient, but somehow still firm. I looked at the mans face, noticed the two day stubble and blue green eyes. His expression was one of encouragement at first. Then he noticed me looking at him.

"The pig does not make eye contact with it's Master!" He back handed me. The slap wasn't overly powerful, but I went to my knees anyway.

"Perhaps I should take the matches, and put you in the pile with that stuff..." He mused.

I quickly opened the sliding box of wooden kitchen matches and grabbed three. Something inside told me he was capable of murder, even a slow, loud murder as burning someone alive. I struck a match and threw it at the pile. I had done it too fast, the match had gone out. Master cleared his throat and reached for the box. I lit the second one, and waited for it to stay burning, then lightly tossed it onto the pile.

I was expecting a "whoosh!" but the gasoline had been sitting awhile. It caught, caught fast, but no fume explosion.

We sat outside as everything I had owned was burned to ash. It took almost two hours. Master kept stirring the fire so unburned things could get lit. All that was left when it was over was bits of metal from the laptop, and the warped nameplates from my trophies. I quietly cried on my knees next to Master's camping chair. My old life was gone, just gone.