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Chapter 8 Do Miracle Ever Cease?
From the drama of the trial and its abrupt and role reversal conclusion, we all became media darlings for our fifteen minutes of fame. It actually lasted longer than fifteen minutes, but after the required media tour of the TV morning news shows, and some additional time on the Leno Letterman circuit we were exhausted and somewhat quietly went back to more "normal" lives.
I went back to Massachusetts. I married my old fiancée, who I did love, but at this point not only loved but respected for being the catalyst for my transformation for a second time. Harvard also, during our time of fame, renewed my acceptance into the School of Law, and after the fame was over quietly added some additional hoops which I had to go through to show I was still mentally competent to enter the school. After some intense retraining of my brain, I passed through those hoops, and did graduate with a Harvard Law degree. I set up a practice not in government nor corporate law, but in advocacy law, and my wife and I were satisfied to live on my income, and the interest which was generated by my $550,000 compensation from Pleasant Acres Farms. which we invested and this amount, along with an additional $250,000 which was added by a state court in New York later in the same year of our miracle move from slavery to affluence.
I did write a book about the experiences and made the same circuit of morning and evening talk shows to publicize the book, which sold well but was not a best seller.The brand on my butt was still there. We did try some skin grafts, but they did not work. Finally I just accepted that I would go to my grace with a slave "S" branded on my butt. I was also aware that now, unlike my glory show coffle days, few people beside my wife and I ever saw my butt. I also had some work done to take off the tattoos of my SIN on my arm, and the "SLAVE" and my SIN on my back that were mandated by New York when we became slaves there. These tattoo removals went well, but I was told that a true deep tattoos like those put onto slaves went too deeply and probably would still lurk there under the new surface skin. I actually came never to notice the faint vestiges of those tattoos. I told my wife one night that finally I was sure that my miracle of release from my kidnapping and enslavement was complete, and I was just another lawyer with a wife and two children...a symmetrical boy and girl. I felt a comfort that after fame, and exposure, I was just another lawyer doing legal work for families and businesses in a suburb of Springfield, Massachusetts, but remembering my kidnapping, I also reserved about thirty percent of my professional time to do public advocacy. I worked with poor people and took as many cases as I could work into my days to keep the most ignored lower class of citizen from being taken advantage of by more connected other citizens. I got satisfaction from these cases, but of course almost no money. Both my wife and I were satisfied with this balance on my professional life.
Five years after release and renewal of my former life, I accepted an invitation to be a speaker at a conference in Miami, Florida, not on slavery and my escape but on my work in public advocacy law. It was a little hard for me to go back to Florida, and I wrestled with the decision; however, I decided to go ahead with the trip. As I explained to my wife, "I want to try to encourage my fellow lawyers to be more generous with their time in helping the working poor, and I think I need to exorcise this last demon by going back to Florida because it is a major slave state, and I have avoided going to slave states long enough."
And so I flew into Miami, made my talk, and had a really satisfying time. Several lawyers came up to me after the speech, and said that my speech did remind them that they had been told in law school that they did need to help others who in the service of justice, and not always only do legal work for the fee. I felt so comfortable there that actually that I decided to take advantage of the offer from the conference administrators to add a two day extension there just to relax and enjoy some personal R&R on the beach. I still had a decent body, and went swimming in the ocean. I did appreciate that in my Speedo, I could still detect some glances from some of the women (and a few men) at the beach. After my last swim I went over to a less crowded part of the beach, stretched out and went to sleep.
What happened in my sleep was that the tattoos which had been made almost invisible became much more visible in the bright sun as my skin tanned, because the sunintensified the ink in the old tattoos. One of the ladies who had seen me earlier came over to offer to "put some sun tan lotion on my back" but instead she saw that the tattoo on my back which said "SLAVE," and my SIN tattoo on my arm. The tattoos had indeedbecome more prominent in the sun. I had not remembered that the doctors who had been working to remove the marks of slavery from me had warned me that in addition to the "S" brand, these tattoos were done very deeply, and would never be totally covered by the last level of epidermis and that the sun would make them show up more. She promptly used her cell phone to call the SP (Slave Police) and report a possible escaped slave. As I slept a small squad of three SP's came out to talk to her, and she led them to my still sleeping body. The SP told her to be very quiet. One of the SP's now took his slave strap, and snapped it across my butt. I awoke and immediately my old slave training and conditioning snapped in (Trainer you really did your work well) and seeing myself surrounded by SP officers, I hopped up and assumed to slave attention pose with my arms crossed behind my head and my feet placed shoulder length apart. "That slave strap shows a real slave every time" was the comment of the SP officer. The slave body remembers its training with the strap."With my remembered sneaky slave peeking I saw the other two officers nodding agreement with this piece of wisdom. I decided to try to make my case. "SIRS, I began..." That is as far as I got as my ass was given a punishment swat and my speech about this being a mistake was interrupted by my howl of pain.After I recovered from that howl, I tried to begin again "SIRS..." I got another swat, and much to my amazement the second WAS harder than the first. "Get a muzzle for this dumb piece of slave shit." the officer in charge ordered. I was almost immediately presented with a gag with a round open tube trough the middle, and the straps that would indeed hold that tube in my mouth and prevent any intelligible words being uttered.
"OPEN!" was the order. I did not open. I received a third and very impressive swat across my ass, and involuntarily opened my mouth to scream in agony. My scream was muzzled by the gag going into my mouth and locked firmly behind my head. Again the head goon explained to the lady who had caused me to be in this condition, "This tube gag allows us to irrigate the slave to keep it from being dehydrated without having to listen to all that verbal diarrhea from the slave." The lady nodded sagaciously.
"This slave is over clothed." my chief oppressor said to his two assistants."I think it needs to lose its free person swim suit and get into its collar and chains." Handcuffs were locked around my wrists, another took out his utility knife and slit off my speedo swim trunks. Immediately my fate was absolutely sealed. There is all it branded glory was my "S" brand.
"Well that S' brand seals it mam," the officer said to the woman who had changed my life. "No runaway slave can get rid of that S' brand." Soon the familiar steel presence was locked around my neck, and I heard the click of its being locked on. I then felt steel wrist and ankle cuffs being attached, and from the weight I knew that there were heavy chains linking them together.
"Now the slave is properly dressed" chief goon again pompously intoned. I could not believe that in one life and man could be kidnapped, stripped and chained and illegally turned into a slave for a second time, but the chains, the collar, and the gag effectively showed me I was again was a powerless object that would obey to survive.
"Thank you miss for your help in returning this run away back to its proper condition." "I was only doing my duty officer. I believe it is every citizen's duty to be alert and to help the public be safe from criminals and these slave animals." The officers all nodded in agreement.
"Let's get slave boi here back to the station so we can get him punished, and returned to its owner." With another swat of the slave strap I began my chain clanking trip across the beech. When we got to the parking lot, I was made to climb up into the open back of Slave Patrol truck, and there was chained into a standing position by the side rail of the truck. After the officers talked some more and smoked another round of cigarettes they got in and I got to stand naked... no, I remembered being told in my previous time as a slave, that a slave is legally clothed if it was in its collar, and wrist and ankle chains; therefore, I was fully and properly clothed for my trip to the SP offices. When we arrived at the SP headquarters, I was released from the truck's side and told to get my lazy slave ass down from the truck. Inside I was taken to a small cell about the size of one of those old phone booths that used to be around a city. There I remained for a fairly long time, although it is hard to tell time when being ignored and in an uncomfortable position.
Finally I was released, a lead attached to my collar, and like a dog I was led to a room where I was instructed to stand on two footprints on the floor, and facing a table of the SP officers. I still was muzzled and could therefore make no plea for checking and recognition.
As I was trying to figure how I could get myself out of this situation the officer in the middle of the three SP goons spoke to me.
"This hearing is for the record and is being recorded for documentation and for file. Slave SIN 613 – 210 – 541, we have checked this SIN and discovered that you are registered as belonging to Pleasant Acres Farm here in Florida."
I thought to myself, that the old operation was efficient, and when all of us slaves moved from New York to Florida I suspect one computer talked to another computer and moved all of our slave registration information to Florida.
"In checking we have found that Pleasant Acres Farm no longer exists in Florida, and furthermore it no longer exists in its former alternate location in New York. There is no notation that you were released nor that you were a run-away. However, the slave SIN is still listed as current. Therefore this Slave Adjudication Board has decided to use you as a state slave assigned to the road gang division. If your old owners did not seem to care enough about you to even note you had gone missing, we in Florida will accept the gift of your work. This decision by the Board is unanimous, and will be so noted. Slave you now are the property of the State of Florida, and we will not lose track of you, and will not longer be resting and lounging around during the day."
Another member of my "trial" court also chimed in. "It may not be lounging too much at night either...You know how the other slaves on a punishment work gang like to welcome a new member into the gang."
"Yah, and of course some of the officers might want to give a newbie a welcome also before the slave becomes too gross to even stick your prick into."
"The preceding remarks are NOT part of the record, and will NOT be placed into the official records of this hearing." The head officer said, and glared at the two colleagues.
He then turned to glare at me.
"Slave do you have any comment to make, as the law does allow a slave a comment at this time." I still had the tube gag in my mouth, and when I tried to move my shackled wrists up to indicate that I wanted it removed, the officer gave me a disapproving glare, and instead of ordering the gag removed said. "The slave has not offered any comment and instead has tried to create a disturbance in the hearing. It is further ordered that this slave be placed in punishment chains for six weeks upon its arrival at the work camp. There being no further business for this board, the hearing is dismissed."
The justice a slave could expect I had just received. No miracle happened to make the group of SP officers actually give a slave any consideration, and certainly no rights.
As they officers sat, and I stood awaiting someone to take me to my fate, I heard the final nail in my slavery. One of the two officers commented to his neighbor. "It was quite a day yesterday on the beach. There was a man who swam out too far, got caught in a rip tide and was taken out to sea and drowned. It is interesting that the coroner has ruled that the person was that guy from Massachusetts who was once a slave in that show coffle, but he was here making a speech for the Trial Lawyers Association at the Fountainblu Hotel. His wife is coming down to collect his belongings. I guess there will be a memorial service in Massachusetts."
That information really did seal my fate. My wife will mourn my tragic death by drowning, while I will actually be on the state chain gang, and dead to all my former life. I was thankful that the fates that seemed determined to make me a slave, also allowed me to know that my wife would not be again left to wonder what had happened to me. And of course she would not be looking for the coincidence of an escaped slave being captured on the same day, and investigate and find my old SIN was now registered as belonging to the "Great" State of Florida. It did not seem much of a hope, but as a slave, you cling to any hope however strange and unexpected it might be.
However deep down, I think I knew that I had already used my quota of miracles.
THE END... probably