Crucifixion

The morning quickly moved from the deep cold of night to the heat of day. The penal planet was a place of extremes, though Zoe preferred the heat of the day to the cold of the night. 

The rest of the slaves that had been sleeping by the side of the inn all got up and quickly headed to their respective owners. Many went to a corner, squatted, and relieved themselves. Zoe did as well. In the short time she'd been at the Penal Colony, she'd lost virtually all her sense of personal privacy or shame. 

She then went to the front of the inn to await her owner.

It had crossed her mind to run. She literally had nothing to bind her to her owner, to the town. She could just walk away.

She also knew it didn't matter where she went, they'd find her and return her.

A slave owners were sitting at a table eating, and slaves were hovering nearby, hoping to get scraps. Apparently this was the way most slaves in the town were fed; they got scraps from the owners and shopkeepers.

Zoe headed over carefully. She had gotten into a fight the day before over table scraps, and didn't want that to happen again. No one won with that situation, except for slave owners who bet on the fight.

A few scraps were thrown out, and gradually, Zoe became bolder and bolder, like a dog slowly moving in, carefully judging how close to a table full of food they could be. Her owner came out and joined some of the other customers of the inn, eating a breakfast and talking and joking. Zoe moved in and was right at the table, begging for scraps with her eyes.

It was risky, she actually put one hand on the table, clearly requesting food, but not willing to speak. 

Her owner had mercy on her and began throwing scraps. Bread crusts, the fat on the edges of meat, bits of carrot, even bones that Zoe gnawed on.

She didn't realize it, but Zoe was getting better and more food than most slaves on the ranch or farm. She just had to beg and eat it off the ground. The food bits would usually be covered with dirt, which Zoe ate along with the food.

Zoe was also getting a little more food than some of the other slaves. There were about ten of them, all gathered around the eating tables, begging silently for scraps. Some received more than others; these tended to be the more beautiful slaves. Zoe was very good looking, and was unknowingly taking advantage of this with her begging.

Breakfast was winding down and the slave owners were getting up, paying their bills, and leaving with their slaves. Zoe didn't know her owner's name. She heard someone say it once, but she couldn't remember it. That didn't matter. She knew him and followed him and did as he commanded.

Just as they were getting ready to go, there were screams from down the street. It wasn't unusual for there to be a scream or cry every once in a while as a slave got the whip or whatever, but this was long, sustained, and agonized. It attracted attention.

"Crucifixion!" Yelped Zoe's owner to a couple of the other owners, and they all headed toward the main town square. Several slaves followed, including Zoe.

As the group reached the town square, they saw a number of people standing in a group with a woman on the ground. She was being wrestled to the ground by several men, held down on top of heavy beams that had been nailed together to form a cross.

The woman was screaming and begging, but the slave owners simply kept holding the naked slave down as her arm was placed into positions and large spikes produced. The slave was screaming, struggling, crying out but held down, then paused when she saw the first of the spikes slowly aiming toward her right wrist.

Panic seized her then and she started struggling in an uncoordinated, thrashing manner, trying to pull the wrist away at all costs. 

Zoe watched in a mixture of awe and horror as the owners and keepers held the naked woman down on the wooden cross as one of the men positioned the spike, raised a large hammer, then brought it down hard.

Zoe caught just a tiny sound of crunching squish as the spike penetrated the naked woman's wrist before her renewed screams cut through the air.

Zoe turned away, unable to watch for a moment. She was able to observe the others in the square, come to watch the torture. It was horrifying to watch the audience, as well. Slave owners, keepers, tradesmen, all the freemen were out and watching; they looked on with fascination, some with pleasure, some dispassionately.

The slaves mostly watched with a mixture of horror and resignation. They knew this, they had seen it before, it was part of the life and death of the penal colony. It simply was.

The noise of the pounding hammer stopped for a moment, the screams of the woman decreasing to a panicked sobbing. Then they began again, the thumping accompanied by renewed screaming.

Zoe turned back around and saw the left wrist was now attached to the wood beam. The men that had been holding the woman down were not relaxing their hold-- the slave was firmly affixed to the cross, unable to do much of anything except thrash her legs around.

As everyone in the town square watched, three of the freemen lifted the cross into the air. The slave was sobbing, not screaming-- until the cross reached and almost upright position and her body slid down.

Zoe cringed, knowing the wood of that cross was rough and covered in splinters, The slave's body slid down, pulled by gravity as the cross moved to its upright position.

The slave screamed more, and Zoe wasn't certain if the screams were due to the slave's back and buttocks being scraped and torn like they were on a cheese grater, or if it was the sudden weight on the nails in her wrists.

The woman hung there, the cross beams secured and stable. 

Zoe watched for a little while, but all there was to see was the woman suffering. She continued to sob and cry out periodically, and writhed. But she couldn't move much. Her hips thrust out, and her torso twisted some, but her arms remained outstretched and affixed in place. 

The struggling and writhing caused more pain, and at one point the slave sagged down limp, unconscious, but then regain consciousness with a gasp and cry.

Eventually, Zoe turned away. She followed her owner as he visited some local businesses, a blacksmith, a supplier of farm equipment, and so on. The images of the poor slave hanging by nails in her wrists haunted her.

She wondered what the slave had done to deserve such punishment. But the scene also let her know that her term of slave service at the penal colony, which was supposed to be ten years, meant nothing. She might not last the ten years, and now had no belief that even if she did, that she'd be going home.

Zoe was a slave for life.