My name is 437.

Yesterday I was Alex Peterson, recruited into the Elite Academy Training Programme. I had been top of my class, and my primary school grades had made me one of the most gifted boys in the country. I had been offered one of just 20 places each year offered to the children of helots to advance into the Elite Academy.

I had been doing well too, and should have got through to the second round easily, but yesterday I messed up big time.

Now I am not Alex any more. Neither am I a boy.

The anaesthetic they used wore off in the night and my crotch is so sore. I can hardly bear to look at the dressing. It is not just the pain. I think I could bear the pain. It is knowing that in the course of one afternoon I went from promising potential member of the Elite academy to being a eunuch and a slave. We all had heard stories about what they did to slaves. If half of those were true, my life had suddenly become very bleak indeed.

My penis is still to sore to touch, but I wonder whether that good feeling has gone away yet. Everyone says that cut boys don't get hard, but I don't know if that's true. I do know that I only recently discovered how nice it felt to stroke myself down there. I hope they are wrong about that.

Another slave came into the recovery room earlier. I think he was probably another failed recruit like me because even though he is older - maybe 17 or 18, and tall enough to be an adult, his voice was high like a kid's, and his face hairless.

He left me a pile of clothes and told me I should get dressed. I looked at the clothing, and bit my lip. I knew the law, but the reality of it hit as hard a I felt I had already been kicked in the groin. Eunuchs were not allowed any clothing that would prevent quick inspection of their tattoos. The underwear was little more than a g string, but I could not imagine wearing it until I healed some more in any case. There was also a slave tunic, with a slit right down the right hand side so that even with a belt, the tunic would expose my right bum cheek as I walked. The tattoo would indeed be easily accessible.

I had seen eunuchs occasionally of course. Everyone saw them attending their elite masters at civic functions. On those occasions they sometimes got to wear more formal clothes, but the same strictures applied on tattoo access.

I was surprised I was not taken away at once. I had thought that once cut I would immediately be transported to the slave school, but the other slave - number 241 - informed me that I would be confined to the deselection centre until the end of the training programme. It seemed that it was more efficient to take five eunuchs to the school together than individually - it saved money in the induction process.

"You will be pretty much laid up here until you heal anyway. That usually takes at least a week." 241 told me. He seemed kindly and demonstrated for me how to walk so that it was a little more comfortable until I healed. He explained to me what was a happening and some of what would happen next.

"No one will bother you till you are healed. Then they will may a selection decision to decide what you will be used for." He appraised me as he spoke and went on. "You are really cute though so I don't think there is much doubt what they will choose."

I felt a lump in my throat, and my eyes misted up, but I blinked away the tears furiously. I may not be a boy anymore, but I was not going to let him see me cry like a girl.

241 took me to a room which looked out onto the training ground below. The room was fitted with one way glass, he told me, so we could see out but no one could see in. Apparently there were several such rooms, and camera feeds to internal areas like the examination hall and even the dormitories.

"Are we allowed to be in here?" I asked ass 241 switched on a monitor screen, revealing a view of the currently empty dining hall.

241 grinned at me. "I think the trainers have forgotten about this room. They never come into the deselection centre. That is why I am here. I was assigned to the centre to induct new eunuchs and help with their recovery. That doesn't mean we are not allowed to pass the time watching some of the training though."

I watched as he found the training feed for the main hall. The chief trainer was in mid flow, and as he turned up the volume and we watched, it felt almost like I was still sitting there with the other boys, joining in the training. Only the soreness between my legs reminded me otherwise.

*

19 boys sat raptly attentive. They had seen one of the cheats taken from them, struggling and naked to the deselection facility last night. Then they had eaten a good supper and slept an exhausted sleep. The first week of the programme had been tough. Rumour had it that it got tougher yet, but this week was mental agility and the chief trainer was telling them about the various tests they would be taken through.

Much of this was familiar territory from the 11+ exam they had all taken to get into the programme in the first place, and every boy in the room knew they could do the tests. What they were not so sure about was whether they could do them better than anyone else. Lankie, having scraped through to the second round, was now not worried at all. He was some kind of genius. Rumour had it he had scored a new IQ record for the country.

Some of the other boys did not look so comfortable. Joel, Jacob, Nathan - they were all looking distinctly edgy and Tristan was fidgeting like he needed the toilet.

"So this morning the exam is algebra. This afternoon is statistics." The trainer was finishing up. On the board he had displayed a full syllabus, and as his 20th watcher in the deselection facility, I bit my lip. I loved this kind of test. I could have been top of this class - probably behind Lankie... but then Lankie would not have been there. I wished I was doing the tests rather than watching them.

"Now are there any questions? And stop fidgeting, Tristan, for Pete’s sake."

There was a giggle as Tristan turned bright red and sat on his hands.

There were no questions though, and papers were passed out for the examination. I could not read the papers from the video feed, so after a while I got bored of watching and went to find something to write with. I am stuck here for four weeks, I might as well occupy myself with a diary or something while I am here.

*

Tuesday

I slept better last night. The soreness between my legs is more of a dull ache now. But already I am getting stir crazy. There is just nothing to do here. I am so fed up with the drab grey walls of the recovery room. I got up, dressed in the stupid tunic I am supposed to wear and found that 241 had prepared a porridge for breakfast. I never liked porridge much but this one was terrible, as it turns out he used water to mix it up. It seems that we only get fresh food in the deselection centre when there is some left over from the programme canteen. And with 19 hungry boys, today we are out of luck.

We wandered over to the observation room after we had cleared up, because there was nothing else to do. 241 switched on the monitor and we were watching the classroom again, but now there was just the chief instructor and a deputy, looking through yesterday's examinations scripts. We turned the volume up high to catch what they were saying to each other.

"Jacob has done unexpectedly well. I thought this was supposed to be his weaker subject." The deputy was saying as he was checking through the script in front of him.

"Mark him down."

The deputy looked up, pausing and giving a quizzical look. "You are sure you want to do that?"

"We both know he cheated twice yesterday. I want to see what he will do. And if he does nothing, I want him out."

The deputy nodded, and started adjusting some notations on the sheet in front of him.

I grinned. So Jacob was going to get his just deserts after all. Still, I could not help regret that the chief instructor had not seen through him until after I had been deselected. If only he had listened to me when I finished the cross country, I would still be in the programme, and Jacob would be sat where I was sitting.

Friday

Well I meant to write something every day, but there is only so much you can say about sitting in a room watching people write, or looking through a window watching them have fun. When they had some classes, I watched with more interest. 241 has been teaching me to cook and showing me the other domestic chores he does, but all that is pretty unexciting. Jacob has been scoring low marks all week. I guess they marked him down on all his tests, but as it stands he is bottom of the class and with little hope of catching up. Joel is next but he would have to do very badly on the last exam on Sunday to fail. I am looking forward to welcoming Jacob here! Tomorrow there are classes for the last exam. Apparently it is going to be a killer.

Saturday

241 showed me an observation window for the room with the bench I was gelded on today. He had not shown me before because he was worried how I would be about it. The bench I was strapped to still has blood stains on it, and I shivered as I looked through the one way glass. But then I imagined watching Jacob there tomorrow and I was glad he had shown me.

Sunday

I don't know how I feel as I write this. I guess I should just start at the beginning.

I woke up early, and excited. I made breakfast for 241 today and helped with his chores, and then we hurried down to the observation room and waited for the exam. Well the examination was boring as ever. 19 boys quietly scratching away their answers, overseen by a couple of trainers. I watched Jacob intently, a few rows forward from the seat he usually chose, but he was not giving much away, scribbling furiously. Occasionally one or other of the boys would ask for a second answer book, they had written so much. It took fully three hours, and none of the boys looked like they were ready to stop when the time was up.

As happened at the end of every exam, the answer books were passed forward, and then the boys filed out of the hall. Now we just had to wait for the assembly this afternoon to hear the final results.

I watched through the one way glass as the boys assembled outside. Jacob was the last out - I guess he must have been throwing up in the toilets or something, but looking at him now he did not look as grim as he might, even though the other boys were already pointing at his crotch and laughing. Everyone knew who was on his way out today.

We had lunch of leftovers from the canteen. It was cold, but not too bad for a change. 241 told me a little about the slave school as we waited. He was always careful not to tell me too much, thinking I was not ready to hear it. And he was right too. I didn't ask any questions and we both fell silent after a while, waiting for the afternoon assembly.

When it came, we were sat as raptly at the monitor as the boys were in the hall, as the chief trainer stood up to speak.

"Before I start, I need to tell you that every one of you boys has excelled in their work this week." The trainer began, and then he went into a short speech about hard work and diligence that had Tristan fidgeting so much again that he was eventually sent to stand in a corner with his hands on his head.

"And now, the scores." He said, and 19 boys - including the one in the corner - held their breath. The trainer read them out high to low.

"In seventeenth place, Tristan with 1274 marks." he said at length, and now you could have heard a pin falling on a feather bed, it was that quiet. Even Tristan did not move a muscle.

"In eighteenth place, with 1047 marks is ..." the trainer, with a flair for the dramatic, paused for several seconds. "Jacob."

Joel squealed in alarm, and already two deputy trainers were moving forward to grab the boy, who was up out of his seat and looking like he was about to make a dash for freedom. As the room was suddenly filled with a loud buzz of chattering, and the trainers descended on the unfortunate Joel, the chief trainer raised his voice and went on:

"Joel Coates, as your last examination paper was filled with meaningless drivel, you scored 1041 marks only. You are therefore deselected from this programme."

"But.. but..." Joel sobbed as the trainers caught and held him. "I didn't..."

All eyes in the room were on Joel, but I could see Jacob's face clearly on the monitor and he had that same look he had last week, when he had cheated on me. As the trainers pulled off Joel's clothes, fastened a gag and dragged the struggling boy from the room, I knew with a certainty that Jacob had done something. I did not know what. But he had somehow cheated. Again.

I clenched my fists and actually moaned with frustration. I strode from the room.

*

I heard the voices from the medical room, and I found myself reluctantly walking to the observation window. 241 stood beside me and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. He knew what I thought of Jacob. Joel on the other hand, was a friendly blond haired boy who I had always got on well with. It was no comfort to me that I would have a friend with me next week. Not when he was hear because of Jacob.

His legs were already stretched apart into painful splits, and the boy was writhing against his restraints as the injected him with anaesthetic. I wondered if I had looked that afraid when I had been on that table last week.

I watched, feeling sick inside as the doctor cut away Joel's scrotum. It looked like he was having some difficult finding the balls though and had to use some kind of tweezers to coax out the blue-grey nugget. He deftly sutured the cord and snipped the balls away one at a time, dropping them in a jar marked "Joel Coates", and then he was swabbing and cleaning up.

They turned the new eunuch over, as they had done to me, and I watched them needled the number 438 into the flesh of his bum. I saw the whole punch like device they used to insert the chip below the tattoo. I watched the trainer leave him, and then at last, when he was alone and sobbing quietly, 241 and I were allowed in to offer him some comfort.

438 was not the only one of us who was crying.