Kindred

by Octavia E. Butler

He was like me—a kindred spirit crazy enough to keep on trying.

I felt almost as though I really was doing something shameful, happily playing whore for my supposed owner. I went away feeling uncomfortable, vaguely ashamed.

See how easily slaves are made? they said.

I longed for my sleeping pills to give me oblivion, but some small part of me was glad I didn’t have them. I didn’t quite trust myself with them just now. I wasn’t quite sure how many of them I might take.