There were others waiting for the feeding room doors to open when she got there. Large others. Brown-skinned ex-pets from maybe four years...

There were others waiting for the feeding room doors to open when she got there. Large others. Brown-skinned ex-pets from maybe four years ago, when the masters liked the brown-skinned ones to make their places prettier. Sahra slowed. Sometimes thrown-away pets could get mean. Mama said that every skin kind got their turn, sooner or later; and nobody liked going back to the grind when the masters were done. Because being pets was the good life.

One of them noticed her. “Aaaw. Look. A baby rat.”

“Ain’t you off early, little rat?”

Sahra shrugged.

“Why you off early, rat?”

Sahra lifted her bandaged hands to show them. One of the others winced.

“Oooh, that had to hurt…” said one of the men. He still had stripes from when someone had bleached him.

Sahra nodded.

“Don'cha talk, honey?”

That was always a danger sign. When they called you sweet names, they were just about to get sour. Sahra thought, bit her lip, and -God forgive her- shook her head.

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