The small pet cage sat in one corner of the luxuriously appointed bedroom, a contradiction to the impeccable taste, the sterile atmosphere. It wasn't the master bedroom of the large house, but a smaller secondary bedroom used for guests. It still had an adjoining bath, still was much larger than most bedrooms he had seen in his short life.
The bedroom was a punishment room for him, set at the back of the house and out of the high traffic area, easily forgotten, easily avoided. It was the place he feared, the place he had come to know intimately.
That room was the first place that he experienced the glow. It caught his attention from across the room. Like an object out of his view line, all he could see was a faint glimmer, much like the sun coming through the window and catching polished glass, only there was no sun. The heavy curtains were drawn tightly over the windows. Still the glow persisted.
He stared at it, giving him something to take his mind off the cramped muscles, the gnawing in his gut, the need to piss. He focused and was pulled away, out of the cramped dog cage where he had to curl in on himself to fit, where he had sat for days until he screamed with the cramping, begged for someone to unlock the small door.
Lack of food left him dizzy, faint. The feel of his gut, like it was actually consuming himself, was a welcome diversion. If he imagined each inch of flesh being digested and his abdomen caving in on itself, he could forget, even for a moment, the muscle cramps from his legs being twisted, his neck being laid to the side.
The screams of pain had won him a short respite from the cage but only long enough to be beaten until there were no screams left, no voice to call for help.
When the burning in his gut reached a level he could no longer endure, he curled in on himself, pushing his naked body until he could wrap parched lips around the end of his cock, drinking the small trickle of his own piss.
He changed positions with much difficulty, trying to relieve the muscle cramps, twisting his body into shapes a contortionist would have envied. Still his eyes kept focus on the glow across the room.
Sleep overcame him at times and he was always surprised that he woke, thinking death would take him soon, wondering if his parents would ever know that he died alone in a dog cage, locked in some man's spare room. When he awoke, the glow remained, regardless of the time of day or night, sometimes brighter, sometimes faint, but never disappearing.
He lay curled downward, his back arching up to stretch the muscles, neck curled to the side and legs tucked beneath, when he saw the door open. From this position, he could see nothing but shoes. Too big, too inexpensive to be his master's. Without beginning the long arduous process that would somehow turn his body, he could not see more than the shoes as they walked around the cage, making sure to stop in front of his eyes.
A bowl was placed on the plush carpet and the smell hit his nose, causing an instant moan from his stomach and an indescribable sound from his throat. Dog food, still can shaped, sat perfectly center in the bowl, placed at just a distance to make reaching it a task. The smell was heavenly. He would have drooled if his mouth could have still produced saliva.
The man stood a moment but the caged boy only eyed the bowl and its contents, working the intricate plan out in his mottled head of how he would need to turn in order to access the food.
The turning took time, sliding and twisting, rearranging the tall lanky body within the tiny cage until he lay at an angle, arms free from beneath him, one finger reaching through the bars, stretching to hook the edge of the bowl.
The glow from the dresser was still there, brighter. It reflected off the glossy congealed form within the bowl. He took that as an omen. He had no idea who it was from or what it meant but it was his omen. It was his.
Hours later, the ceramic bowl clinked as it touched the side of the cage, his long finger just such a length that he could drag it down the side of the can shaped mound within. The finger shook as it pulled back through the bars and into his mouth.
He sucked the finger, collapsing into a deep sleep of exhaustion from his work for the small taste.
The glow watched over him as he slept.
He learned. He learned to be good. His master knew how to train and the boy knew how to listen.
The glow of hope, just out of reach, mocking even without meaning to.
