made for great things, used for the menial

“So, Bob, about those prisoners… have you seen the reports on Emma recently? The night cleaners have been finding all these scratches on the way.”
“That’s nice, Other Bob. Now move over.” Bob nudged Other Bob down the lunch line so that he could put his tray up and watch me dejectedly plop some grey much onto his tray. “I see Allaketo’s finally found some use for the wench.”
“I’m not a wench,” I whispered, although I doubted that any of them were listening to anything I said. I’d been stuck in the position of food service since early yesterday, not getting any food of myself until after everybody else was done. There were only scraps and the chars off the bottom of the pot when everyone was done slurping up- my choking down due to the lack of taste- whatever was in this mush. “And Emma’s not going to break under your pressure. She’s been through much worse.”
“Says the one with dark circles under her eyes looking like she crawled out of a depressive hell,” another zorph commented on his turn to receive mush. “She’ll probably break before you drop to the ground from exhaustion, and looking at you, that’ll be in… oh, a few days.”
“Shut up.” I gave him less than half of a scoop as retribution, but he didn’t seem to notice. Nobody really noticed anything here that was about themselves, only what Allaketo wanted. He was almost like God to them- would be, if they weren’t all pandering about constantly about how they loved “the one true God”. I never really cared much one way or another about there being a god.

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