[ WP ] A race of slaves who really are genetically inferior

**Secret of the Slaves** 
 
 I was raised by my mother along with my siblings in a home that more accurately could have been described as a castle. I remember the high halls' walls being covered in exquisite art, the seats in the many living rooms all being as big as royal thrones, and the food being plenty, fresh, and nourishing. The slow slave-race provided for our every need and every whim. As kids we often played with the servants, although our mother disapproved. We thought it was great fun. 
 
 As a youngster, when the time came, me along with one of my brothers were shipped off to take care of our own estate. In our new home already resided a middle aged gentleman, who had been taking care of the household and the resident slaves. He was glad to have some company, since he had been living there all on his own, with only the dull-minded attendants as very silent companions. He taught us how to behave elegantly, as was appropriate for our esteem. He taught us to hunt in the vast forests that opened up behind our residence, and he taught us how to appropriately handle the slaves when the need arose. 
 
 They were quite well trained already by our mentor, so we were taught about positive reinforcement and how to communicate that to the race of idiots. Sometimes, when we wanted done something that was difficult to get across, we tried speaking to the slaves - not like we spoke to each other, of course, they could n't possibly comprehend the intricacy of language - but like we would talk to small children, like our mother had spoken to us when we were still struggling to learn to walk. Sometimes they seemed to get this light of understanding in their proportionately small eyes and they would comply with our request, but at least as many others they would just stare and mumble. The slaves were n't perfect, but they were easy to train to do the simple stuff, so almost every household had them. 
 
 But at times they needed to be shown discipline. One of them would forget to start the meal, or would go outside at night, get lost, and not return before the next day, for example. And because their much heavier build than ours, they would sometimes unwittingly hurt us while giving a massage. On these occasions, we were taught the appropriate punishments. We would slap them and curse at them, deny them our signs of affection, and on one particularly crude offense - I can not recall specifically what that was, since it has been quite some time since the transgression occurred - our mentor took us in his tow, went to the offending slave's sleeping chamber and proceeded to urinate on the slave's bed. We were quite young, and shocked, but as we grew older, we realised that the punishment was indeed necessary to keep the dullards in line. 
 
 Our lives were filled with activities suitable for gentlemen of noble blood in their veins. One of them was not the pondering of the slaves' intelligence. It was n't a taboo, per se, there just was very little interest in such a subject. I, however, were, and still am, quite intriqued by them. When we reached the age of adulthood, and our mentor became our peer, no longer holding any power over our activities and pursuits, I dedicated most of my free time in the study of those clumsy, slow beasts that roamed our halls. 
 
 I observed them, mostly on their spare time from their duties, when they tended to group together, and noticed that they seemed to display some social behaviours. They would huddle close to each other, like they were seeking comfort, and just stare. They were mysterious creatures, I was sure of that. 
 
 A breakthrough of sorts came one night when I was awoken from my slumber by some wandering thought or other. I was n't feeling tired anymore, so I got up and wandered the halls until I found the slaves in one of the rooms. They were gathered around a table, feeding. It had never occurred to me that they also ate at night, so I decided to observe them a little. It seemed like they were having a feast - there was more food in front of them than usually, which alone is a really poor measure of a feast, but I did n't think critical thought would really be necessary at this hour. Then I noticed something odd. 
 
 They seemed to be making noises. With very low voices, one or two slaves would vocalise at a time, followed by other, slightly higher voicalizations from the other ones. It seemed to have a pattern, like... a language. 
 
 I knew I would propably never come to understand their language, if it even was that, and not my sleepy mind's flight of fancy. It was incomprehensible - they used minimal body language and instead made lots of noises, like little children, or some pray animals like birds. But the prospect had opened my mind forever to the possibility that these beings, slow and stupid as they were, could also be sentient. The thought was, in a word, scary. At that time I myself had once or twice used the ultimate punishment of pissing on a slave's bed to make a point, and it crossed my mind that these intellectually helpless creatures, if they had a language and were social, could also process it further than just as something they deserved. Would they question our methods? Would they one day decide that they did n't actually *need* to serve us, that they would want *rights*? They are, as mentioned, greater in size than we, and could very easily turn against their masters if they had the intelligence for the thought. 
 
 I did n't bring my concerns to the attention of my brother, or the man, our previous mentor, that was now growing old. I knew they would think I was mad to even consider it. But some nights it kept me awake, and I would wander the halls in the hopes of witnessing more rituals that apparently had escaped the interest of my predecessors and contemporaries. I rarely succeeded, but every time I did, my concerns only grew. Maybe some day I would meet someone with an open enough mind to share my findings with, and even get the opportunity to spread the word. But in case I never would, I was prepared to take my observations to the grave, and the secret of the slaves would die with me. 
 
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 Just spent about two hours at this, so I apologize for any typos and mistakes! It's four AM and I need to sleep before proper proof reading, so I hope you enjoyed it nevertheless! 
 
 Edit: On further inspection of the thread this kind of theme seems to have been done already, but I hope it was n't too boring. 
 
 I also noticed that I deviated from the prompt. I somehow did n't get that it was supposed to be from the **slaves** perspective. Sorry. -_-
