The Beast

He brought the whip down hard and listened as it cracked across the back of the beast. Immediately a welt started to form, angry and red. He drew his arm back along with a fresh breath and exhaled as her released his coiled arm and unleashed another pounding blow. Two would be enough. Two would suffice to move the animal where he wanted it to go.

It had been a long week and he had schedules to keep, contracts to fulfill, customers to satisfy. He couldn't afford to miss deadlines, not after all the hard work he had put into building his business and chasing his clientele. He looked at the other animals but none looked back.

He had trained them well and hardly needed the whip anymore but he brought it out from time to time to keep the rest in line. You can't let strays leave the herd as more will follow suit and you can't let any one of them have too much influence over the others. It is all about spirit breaking, the rules of socialization will do the rest.

Training was all about reward and punishment. Reward well but only for exceptional behavior but, punish heavily for the slightest infraction. He had noticed that fewer and fewer were straying from the group and his whip was coming out at even the smallest slip in movement. Schedules were always tightening and he always met them.

He pulled another breath and let the leather fly once more. Two was enough but three would make sure the message was received, a reminder for time eternal that divergence will not be tolerated. At least by him.

Working animals need to be reliable and that required a strong, unbending hand on the reigns. There was no way to control so many with so few otherwise. Without strength, the herd could turn direction, charge and trample somebody. Care needed to be taken, they were powerful beasts.

Life on the farm was a difficult one. A farm owner had to come to terms with certain realities of life and the training of animals was one. As was the occasional need to put them down. An injured animal can no longer produce so has to be disposed of although, he didn't do this in front of the others, it was too much for them to take. The only time he killed in front of the group was when absolutely necessary.

Beasts were expensive and their price was going up to buy but down to sell. At some point, it just wouldn't be feasible to keep them at all. When the cost is too high, humans will have to be used instead. He hoped he would not live long enough to ever see the day where a person was working like an animal. It would crush him to see his son working like a dog.

His son was growing fast though, learning the ropes, learning the tips and tricks of farming well. He was a capable boy and had built the strength in his control arm quickly. He was proud of him and was glad that all of his hard work to get to this point would get passed into to his son without the fear that he would squander the opportunity.

One day, he hoped he would even see his grandson take over the reigns but at his age, that might be too much to ask. Still the future looked bright, the business was doing well and expanding faster than he had hoped. Cost per unit was creeping up but there was still a lot of profit on delivery.

He looked down at the animal and the three swollen stripes angry and red. He spat into the dust. For a moment he considered adding a fourth but he decided against it. It would be too much.

"Get up."

The beast paused.

"You want another? Get up."

As he stared down at the dirt, as he heard the crack of the whip across his back and before the blinding pain filled his body, there was a moment of freedom, a moment of nothingness. In that fraction of a second he wondered what he would do to provide for his family, what he would do to for safety, a roof over the head, a little luxury, a future for his children.

"Get up."

He rose to his feet and turned to face the man and looked him in the eye.

"We are the same, but you can justify your whip."

In that moment, the man looked into the eyes of another man, not a beast at all, a human. Someone who in another life could be a friend or a brother, an equal. In that fraction of a moment he was open, no longer bound by the rules he had learned, the rules he taught his son. For a split second he was free.

The two looked at each other and connected, if for a fraction more the spell would have broken and both could live as equals. But, the fog came down, the illusion of a learned reality returned.

"Get back to work. Or, you want the fourth?"

"No, Boss."

"Good, I have a business to run and schedules to keep."

Taraz
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