Fic: Whipping Boy
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irishvampire13
Title: 'Whipping Boy'
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 711
Claim: Eleventh Doctor; 12 Prompts: Poetry Randomizer
Prompt: #3: In the Morning Light
Notes/Warnings: Some violence. Implications of attempted child abuse.
Summary: He is an example to them all. The whipping boy.
He's beginning to hate mornings. Sunrise used to be a symbol of hope in his eyes.
No longer. Not for a very long time, in fact.
His captors come for him every day at sunrise, like clockwork. They drag him from a dank cell and fitful slumber--if he was fortunate enough to get to sleep at all, that is--and drag him out into harsh, hot sunlight. They force him into what used to be a makeshift arena, that has now taken on a disturbing permanence. The locals gather and take their positions.
And then the fun begins. Fun, naturally, being dependent entirely on one's point of view. Certainly those who keep him here enjoy it. It's become a game to them, in fact: See who can give their toy the worst beating. He's heard that it's even become a reward for those who've done well in the eyes of their employers.
That's officially only a rumor, but he sees ample proof of its veracity every morning. Their laughter, their jeers. The force of their blows.
Oh, yes. These people are having the time of their lives.
As for the onlookers, well. They're a different matter. He can see the pity in their eyes as fists pummel him. Can hear their gasps as he's driven to the ground, steel-toed-booted feet slamming into his ribs and knocking the air out of him.
If they tried, they might be able to stop this brutality; they outnumber his abusers at least ten to one. But there's also fear in their eyes. Along with a relief that someone else is being subjected to the pain, rather than them or their loved ones.
Fair enough, perhaps. As much as it hurts, he'd rather it be him than them, himself. Besides, he knows that none of them want to witness this. They have no choice; the entire population has been ordered to assemble here the moment they've risen each morning.
The reason for the constant beatings is not for information. It is not because he is an off-worlder. Those who are doing this to him don't care a damn for him as an individual. He was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. All available able-bodied inhabitants of this world are required as a work-force. The powers that be can ill afford to abuse one of their own kind, when their economy rides on the constant activity of those they oppress. So, when he stumbled upon this place by accident, the authorities were quick to capture him. They've been making ready--and highly-consistent--use of him ever since.
He acts as an example to them all. The whipping boy. Not quite the scapegoat--at least, not yet. Any slip-ups within the community, any disregard for the order of things, and he must pay the price, which will be far more harsh than what he is ordinarily put through. And they must watch, and be grateful that they do not feel the agony he is put through for their sakes.
Just as he is their whipping boy, they are his guards, these poor people. He can escape at any time, really; his captors haven't confiscated his belongings, and he knows where the TARDIS is hidden. It would be simple enough to get off of this hellhole of a planet.
But the entire town where he's being held--the planet's capital city--serves as one massive hostage. Should the Doctor ever escape--should he even attempt it--then everyone who does not work for the regime will be tortured within an inch of their lives.
He knows this to be true. He's witnessed firsthand the lengths that his captors will go to, in order to ensure his submission. Not long after his captivity began, he tried to resist. It took a good deal of fast talking on his part to keep them from maiming a handful of innocent children. Ever since, he's stood meekly still as his guards bind his hands tightly behind him each morning, using his own tie for rope. Quietly lets himself be led to the arena. Grits his teeth as the beating begins anew.
He cannot have the innocent on his conscience. So he stays on this world that's quickly become comparable to Hell. And dreads the coming of the dawn.
irishvampire13Title: 'Whipping Boy'
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 711
Claim: Eleventh Doctor; 12 Prompts: Poetry Randomizer
Prompt: #3: In the Morning Light
Notes/Warnings: Some violence. Implications of attempted child abuse.
Summary: He is an example to them all. The whipping boy.
He's beginning to hate mornings. Sunrise used to be a symbol of hope in his eyes.
No longer. Not for a very long time, in fact.
His captors come for him every day at sunrise, like clockwork. They drag him from a dank cell and fitful slumber--if he was fortunate enough to get to sleep at all, that is--and drag him out into harsh, hot sunlight. They force him into what used to be a makeshift arena, that has now taken on a disturbing permanence. The locals gather and take their positions.
And then the fun begins. Fun, naturally, being dependent entirely on one's point of view. Certainly those who keep him here enjoy it. It's become a game to them, in fact: See who can give their toy the worst beating. He's heard that it's even become a reward for those who've done well in the eyes of their employers.
That's officially only a rumor, but he sees ample proof of its veracity every morning. Their laughter, their jeers. The force of their blows.
Oh, yes. These people are having the time of their lives.
As for the onlookers, well. They're a different matter. He can see the pity in their eyes as fists pummel him. Can hear their gasps as he's driven to the ground, steel-toed-booted feet slamming into his ribs and knocking the air out of him.
If they tried, they might be able to stop this brutality; they outnumber his abusers at least ten to one. But there's also fear in their eyes. Along with a relief that someone else is being subjected to the pain, rather than them or their loved ones.
Fair enough, perhaps. As much as it hurts, he'd rather it be him than them, himself. Besides, he knows that none of them want to witness this. They have no choice; the entire population has been ordered to assemble here the moment they've risen each morning.
The reason for the constant beatings is not for information. It is not because he is an off-worlder. Those who are doing this to him don't care a damn for him as an individual. He was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. All available able-bodied inhabitants of this world are required as a work-force. The powers that be can ill afford to abuse one of their own kind, when their economy rides on the constant activity of those they oppress. So, when he stumbled upon this place by accident, the authorities were quick to capture him. They've been making ready--and highly-consistent--use of him ever since.
He acts as an example to them all. The whipping boy. Not quite the scapegoat--at least, not yet. Any slip-ups within the community, any disregard for the order of things, and he must pay the price, which will be far more harsh than what he is ordinarily put through. And they must watch, and be grateful that they do not feel the agony he is put through for their sakes.
Just as he is their whipping boy, they are his guards, these poor people. He can escape at any time, really; his captors haven't confiscated his belongings, and he knows where the TARDIS is hidden. It would be simple enough to get off of this hellhole of a planet.
But the entire town where he's being held--the planet's capital city--serves as one massive hostage. Should the Doctor ever escape--should he even attempt it--then everyone who does not work for the regime will be tortured within an inch of their lives.
He knows this to be true. He's witnessed firsthand the lengths that his captors will go to, in order to ensure his submission. Not long after his captivity began, he tried to resist. It took a good deal of fast talking on his part to keep them from maiming a handful of innocent children. Ever since, he's stood meekly still as his guards bind his hands tightly behind him each morning, using his own tie for rope. Quietly lets himself be led to the arena. Grits his teeth as the beating begins anew.
He cannot have the innocent on his conscience. So he stays on this world that's quickly become comparable to Hell. And dreads the coming of the dawn.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-09 08:39 am (UTC)