You can open the cage of oppression and break the chains of slavery, but it's up to the individual whenever or not they step outside. For what does freedom really mean when demanded of you by a god? -- Anon Guest
To live was to work. To work was to live. Only the newborn were permitted hours of rest and sloth. All of them spent their time in darkness. The light of the sun was a privilege granted by the one on high. Splurged on the indolent youth, they spent the rest of their lives earning it properly.
By the sweat of thy brow, shalt thou earn thy bread. It was in the hymns they sang to the one on high. It was in their prayers for mercy from any slight transgressions they may commit. For they must work perfectly, or be punished. At any point the one on high could withhold food, water, or a bed for the rest hours. The one on high made certain all knew who had earned punishment. Depending on the crime, the punishment would be swift and severe.
Destruction of property was always punishable by death. Anyone who stole from the manufacturing line would lose a digit from a random phalange until they had no fingers left. The last one to go would be the thumb. After that... their fate was sealed. Those who could not work... died slowly. Therefore it was wise to thank the one on high for any small mercy. That was -- until the gods came crashing down.
Support me on Patreon / Buy me a Ko-fi
Prompts remaining: 68 Submit a Prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!