Fist pounding on a vending machine.
Sep. 1st, 2005 12:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dejanaAhhhh, sleep...
I dreamed about traveling and hotels and stuff. I think I was some kind of secret agent, because there was murder and chases and guns and things. Or maybe I was just some businesswoman and someone went postal on me. I wish I could remember my dreams better.
I finished the first third of my new AMV last night. I'm hoping to get the rest pulled together today. ^^
It seems I'm able to do a little writing if I work on a bunch of things at once, a bit at a time. Just for fun, here's something I've been playing around with. Don't get too excited, I wrote this prologue ages ago...although I did double the size of chapter 1 the other night. ;)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Due Process
A Sailormoon Fanfiction
by dejanatalis@aol.com
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Prologue
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The morning horn sounded.
The resulting blast reverberated throughout the barracks, shaking every bed and barred door down to its very foundations. The sound was harsh and nearly deafening, and its echoes continued long after the horn itself stopped vibrating. Prisoner 101204 had already been awake for several seconds when the screeching howl shattered the silence of the cave, and at the first hint of its cry she leapt down from the top bunk and was reaching for her work clothes before the lights had even come on. After so many mornings of the same, the horn no longer had the privilege of disturbing her dreamless sleep. Still, she always laid motionless on her bunk until the wake-up call sounded, just like every other prisoner. There was no sense in pushing the standards any higher than they already were.
Like a robot on autopilot she pulled the grubby pair of loose-fitting trousers over her long legs, securing the drawstring around her thin waist. The threadbare pants had once been blue but, like everything else, had faded to a dull gray as they absorbed dust that no amount of washing could remove. The tight, stiff shirt with short sleeves that made up the other half of the uniform clung firmly to every bony curve of her upper body and would effectively hold her breasts in place throughout the day's work. It was bitterly cold in the cave, but she knew she would be glad of the thin clothes later.
After shoving her feet into a pair of boots two sizes too large, Prisoner 101204 stood alert and ready beside the barred door to her cell, waiting for the gate to open. There was a time when she might have spent an eternity selecting the right clothes, when her morning routine included a hairbrush and makeup, but now she was ready in under a minute with her only grooming a bare hand run hastily through her cropped-short hair. It was the same for all of them, and that was the way it had always been.
An anomaly registered itself in the back of Prisoner 101204's mind: she was alone in her cell. Normally Prisoner 93821 would be standing right beside her following an elaborate, automatic dance of weaving around one another as they both dressed for the day, but today Prisoner 101204 did not even have to turn around to know her cellmate was absent, most likely from the entire realm of the living. The older, larger woman had been coughing for the past few weeks, after all.
Fifteen years ago, Prisoner 101204 would have been saddened by her cellmate's death. Ten years ago, she would have envied the deceased. Today, after more than twenty years of inprisonment, she felt nothing. The cell doors rolled open, clanging in unison as they slammed into the opposite walls. As one, the prisoners jogged out of their cells, turned right, and headed down the corridors of the barracks toward the tunnels. Behind the undulating mass of bodies the shrieks of the stragglers caught by the guards punctuated the prisoners' footsteps. Moving in one senseless, emotionless herd, the crowd of captives began another day of existence in The Facility.
The Facility: a massive penal colony that covered more than half the surface of an otherwise uninhabited planet, and stretched into quite a bit of airspace and many miles underground as well. The Facility was composed of work camps that performed all manner of tasks from farming to manufacturing. Upon arrival on the planet, Prisoner 101204 had been immediately assigned to the mining operations, and there she had remained for the entirety of her inprisonment.
At the time, she had thought it a strange decision. Despite her actual age and strength, to all outsiders she seemed a young and feeble woman at little over a hundred pounds, especially when compared to the other prisoners in the mines. Yet here she was amidst men and women most of whom were much larger and stronger than her, jogging down through the maze of tunnels to the vein of ore they were harvesting this month.
Month. Such a meaningless term, really. Prisoner 101204 had no idea if the months or years on this world were at all similar to the time measurements she used to know. In fact, she had not seen whatever sun the planet possessed since the day of her arrest. All she had were the cycles of working and sleeping to marked what she hoped were standard days, and she faithfully continued to count the years as if the days were the same length as those on her own homeworld. No matter what the measurement, the time she had spent here felt like an eternity.
As always, the mines were warm, heated to the temperature preferred by the guards and overseers. Within a few hours this comfortable warmth would seem an unbearable furnace to the prisoners chipping and hauling rock, but of course, that mattered none to the staff that earned a living there. Prisoner 101204 was assigned to mine the ore this morning, and in the afternoon she would have cart duty. The thin woman calmly waited in line to receive a pickaxe from the quartermaster, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the back of the head in front of her. The tool she would be working with was of no use as a weapon; the rock was soft, so the tips of the pickaxe did not need to be sharp, and the race of humanoids chosen as guards had thick skin that could not be broken easily.
At one time the woman had been considered slender, and quite attractive, her perfect form the result of years of training and exercise. Now, although her labors in the mines had built strength and muscle on her arms, legs, and back, the lack of nutrition and sunlight had dried the tissue to sinew and withered away all else. Her short hair, once full and shining with health, now hung limp and flat around her ears. She was a thin, pale ghost of a human being, her eyes sunken into a face that revealed her cheekbones and her hips and wrists protruding under her skin.
Human being. Never in her life before The Facility had Prisoner 101204 dreamed that was a title that would make her unique. Here in this prison she worked alongside people from many different worlds, although most of them were of the species that owned The Facility, and she had never seen another human. The others had two arms and two legs, for the most part, like her, but none of them were quite like the people of the world she had once called home. Prisoner 101204 was unique, yes, but that also meant she was alone.
The woman ducked into her assigned cavern and began chipping away at the blue-green ore. She paced herself carefully, resisting the urge to work faster as the soft rock readily peeled away from her pickaxe. The first hour was always easy, but after that, fatigue would rapidly make the task unbearably difficult. She never knew what the ore was called, or what it would be used for, but the masters of The Facility seemed to always be in need of it.
As she hacked the rock down from the cavern walls, other prisoners rushed back and forth around her with carts, collecting the ore as she mined it. Out of the corner of her eye Prisoner 101204 noticed a repetitive face appearing in her vicinity more often than the others. Biting back a sigh, she focused all of her attention on her work, doing her best to ignore the grizzled man who was bent over his cart but continuously stole moments to leer at her. 95326 was stubborn; he never seemed to give up. The prisoners were supervised, yes, but there were always a few moments out of their sight here and there, and many of the inmates would not hesitate to take advantage of them. Prisoner 101204 could only hope he would strike early, when she still had the strength to resist. At least it would be a man this time. With the women, she could never predict what they would do.
A thought rose unbidden in what shreds of mind remained in the woman's head, too swiftly for her to bury it before it was heard by her inner ear: To think, she had once been one of the most proud and respected beings in the universe, the Sailor Senshi.
The part of her that was once a soldier had long since been stripped away, along with all thoughts of home or loved ones, all dreams of better days. All that remained was a survivor, and that was all she did, all that consumed every bit of her energy every moment of every day and night. She survived, and burned with a bitter grudge toward those who had abandoned her to this place.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
End of Prologue
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Due Process" fanfiction copyright 2004 by dejanatalis@aol.com
Bishoujo Senshi Sailormoon and its associated characters and canon
belong to Naoko Takeuchi and Kodansha. The text of this creative
work was created by dejanatalis@aol.com and is her exclusive property.
Not to be used without permission. Sailor Moon Says: Don't steal! ^.^
I dreamed about traveling and hotels and stuff. I think I was some kind of secret agent, because there was murder and chases and guns and things. Or maybe I was just some businesswoman and someone went postal on me. I wish I could remember my dreams better.
I finished the first third of my new AMV last night. I'm hoping to get the rest pulled together today. ^^
It seems I'm able to do a little writing if I work on a bunch of things at once, a bit at a time. Just for fun, here's something I've been playing around with. Don't get too excited, I wrote this prologue ages ago...although I did double the size of chapter 1 the other night. ;)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Due Process
A Sailormoon Fanfiction
by dejanatalis@aol.com
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Prologue
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The morning horn sounded.
The resulting blast reverberated throughout the barracks, shaking every bed and barred door down to its very foundations. The sound was harsh and nearly deafening, and its echoes continued long after the horn itself stopped vibrating. Prisoner 101204 had already been awake for several seconds when the screeching howl shattered the silence of the cave, and at the first hint of its cry she leapt down from the top bunk and was reaching for her work clothes before the lights had even come on. After so many mornings of the same, the horn no longer had the privilege of disturbing her dreamless sleep. Still, she always laid motionless on her bunk until the wake-up call sounded, just like every other prisoner. There was no sense in pushing the standards any higher than they already were.
Like a robot on autopilot she pulled the grubby pair of loose-fitting trousers over her long legs, securing the drawstring around her thin waist. The threadbare pants had once been blue but, like everything else, had faded to a dull gray as they absorbed dust that no amount of washing could remove. The tight, stiff shirt with short sleeves that made up the other half of the uniform clung firmly to every bony curve of her upper body and would effectively hold her breasts in place throughout the day's work. It was bitterly cold in the cave, but she knew she would be glad of the thin clothes later.
After shoving her feet into a pair of boots two sizes too large, Prisoner 101204 stood alert and ready beside the barred door to her cell, waiting for the gate to open. There was a time when she might have spent an eternity selecting the right clothes, when her morning routine included a hairbrush and makeup, but now she was ready in under a minute with her only grooming a bare hand run hastily through her cropped-short hair. It was the same for all of them, and that was the way it had always been.
An anomaly registered itself in the back of Prisoner 101204's mind: she was alone in her cell. Normally Prisoner 93821 would be standing right beside her following an elaborate, automatic dance of weaving around one another as they both dressed for the day, but today Prisoner 101204 did not even have to turn around to know her cellmate was absent, most likely from the entire realm of the living. The older, larger woman had been coughing for the past few weeks, after all.
Fifteen years ago, Prisoner 101204 would have been saddened by her cellmate's death. Ten years ago, she would have envied the deceased. Today, after more than twenty years of inprisonment, she felt nothing. The cell doors rolled open, clanging in unison as they slammed into the opposite walls. As one, the prisoners jogged out of their cells, turned right, and headed down the corridors of the barracks toward the tunnels. Behind the undulating mass of bodies the shrieks of the stragglers caught by the guards punctuated the prisoners' footsteps. Moving in one senseless, emotionless herd, the crowd of captives began another day of existence in The Facility.
The Facility: a massive penal colony that covered more than half the surface of an otherwise uninhabited planet, and stretched into quite a bit of airspace and many miles underground as well. The Facility was composed of work camps that performed all manner of tasks from farming to manufacturing. Upon arrival on the planet, Prisoner 101204 had been immediately assigned to the mining operations, and there she had remained for the entirety of her inprisonment.
At the time, she had thought it a strange decision. Despite her actual age and strength, to all outsiders she seemed a young and feeble woman at little over a hundred pounds, especially when compared to the other prisoners in the mines. Yet here she was amidst men and women most of whom were much larger and stronger than her, jogging down through the maze of tunnels to the vein of ore they were harvesting this month.
Month. Such a meaningless term, really. Prisoner 101204 had no idea if the months or years on this world were at all similar to the time measurements she used to know. In fact, she had not seen whatever sun the planet possessed since the day of her arrest. All she had were the cycles of working and sleeping to marked what she hoped were standard days, and she faithfully continued to count the years as if the days were the same length as those on her own homeworld. No matter what the measurement, the time she had spent here felt like an eternity.
As always, the mines were warm, heated to the temperature preferred by the guards and overseers. Within a few hours this comfortable warmth would seem an unbearable furnace to the prisoners chipping and hauling rock, but of course, that mattered none to the staff that earned a living there. Prisoner 101204 was assigned to mine the ore this morning, and in the afternoon she would have cart duty. The thin woman calmly waited in line to receive a pickaxe from the quartermaster, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the back of the head in front of her. The tool she would be working with was of no use as a weapon; the rock was soft, so the tips of the pickaxe did not need to be sharp, and the race of humanoids chosen as guards had thick skin that could not be broken easily.
At one time the woman had been considered slender, and quite attractive, her perfect form the result of years of training and exercise. Now, although her labors in the mines had built strength and muscle on her arms, legs, and back, the lack of nutrition and sunlight had dried the tissue to sinew and withered away all else. Her short hair, once full and shining with health, now hung limp and flat around her ears. She was a thin, pale ghost of a human being, her eyes sunken into a face that revealed her cheekbones and her hips and wrists protruding under her skin.
Human being. Never in her life before The Facility had Prisoner 101204 dreamed that was a title that would make her unique. Here in this prison she worked alongside people from many different worlds, although most of them were of the species that owned The Facility, and she had never seen another human. The others had two arms and two legs, for the most part, like her, but none of them were quite like the people of the world she had once called home. Prisoner 101204 was unique, yes, but that also meant she was alone.
The woman ducked into her assigned cavern and began chipping away at the blue-green ore. She paced herself carefully, resisting the urge to work faster as the soft rock readily peeled away from her pickaxe. The first hour was always easy, but after that, fatigue would rapidly make the task unbearably difficult. She never knew what the ore was called, or what it would be used for, but the masters of The Facility seemed to always be in need of it.
As she hacked the rock down from the cavern walls, other prisoners rushed back and forth around her with carts, collecting the ore as she mined it. Out of the corner of her eye Prisoner 101204 noticed a repetitive face appearing in her vicinity more often than the others. Biting back a sigh, she focused all of her attention on her work, doing her best to ignore the grizzled man who was bent over his cart but continuously stole moments to leer at her. 95326 was stubborn; he never seemed to give up. The prisoners were supervised, yes, but there were always a few moments out of their sight here and there, and many of the inmates would not hesitate to take advantage of them. Prisoner 101204 could only hope he would strike early, when she still had the strength to resist. At least it would be a man this time. With the women, she could never predict what they would do.
A thought rose unbidden in what shreds of mind remained in the woman's head, too swiftly for her to bury it before it was heard by her inner ear: To think, she had once been one of the most proud and respected beings in the universe, the Sailor Senshi.
The part of her that was once a soldier had long since been stripped away, along with all thoughts of home or loved ones, all dreams of better days. All that remained was a survivor, and that was all she did, all that consumed every bit of her energy every moment of every day and night. She survived, and burned with a bitter grudge toward those who had abandoned her to this place.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
End of Prologue
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Due Process" fanfiction copyright 2004 by dejanatalis@aol.com
Bishoujo Senshi Sailormoon and its associated characters and canon
belong to Naoko Takeuchi and Kodansha. The text of this creative
work was created by dejanatalis@aol.com and is her exclusive property.
Not to be used without permission. Sailor Moon Says: Don't steal! ^.^
