The days move on so that I can hardly remember one to the next. We are used for sex--or sent to the kitchens or a task master who gives us chores--cleaning, scrubbing, garden work, mending uniforms. But with so many women--there must be thirty in the brothel consistently--there's hardly enough work to keep us occupied for even eight hours a day. This gives us lots of time to brood. I find this the worst. I think too much, and become vulnerable. Days, to weeks, to months, I'm restless; which is a sign of danger. My friend 'Red' blows in small tantrums; I do it all at once.
Six months in the life, I have a week of nearly nothing to do. The men who'd normally screw us are on maneuvers. Funny, how much my body needs those brutes. The restlessness builds a little bit each day and my submissive attitude retreats. I snap at a superior, and snap a little more the day after. I start getting cocky, enjoying the risks I take with my words. I used to do this with my lovers when I was restless with them. Either they would knock me down to size with a few barbs of their own--like Jordan would, or run off. No one pays much attention until General Hanan begins to bait me.< ...
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