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Sir led her to the river.
On crawling back from a chilling wash, she found the other end of the chain had been locked about a large tree in the middle of the camp. No escape.
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A plate sat in front of the fire pit, the lantern beside it. Though she could not make out what it was on the plate, she could see that it had been artistically arranged, and knew it would be repulsive to eat.
The men sat around sucking beer. Waiting.
"Dinner tonight, madam, is one of your favourites: headcheese salad, with a blood and sperm rape puree, served with fresh doggie scumbags, and garnished with a lump of shit. How does that sound?"
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A question. Oh God. Was she supposed to answer? What answer did they want? The truth? Eager?
"Answer him", the coach said, informing her she was allowed to speak more than ordering her to respond.
"It...it sounds very...repulsive. I think I may throw up if I eat it. May I start right away?"
"Of course," he glowed. Right answer.
She crawled forward to behold the horrid slop, a slab of jellied brain on a sheet of lettuce, absolutely covered with congealed sperm, pink with her own blood. Condoms on the side.
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