Author's Note:
Hi, Rubies! I hope you enjoy my latest short story. I won't go on for too long but just want you to know that as much as I love reading your comments on my work, I don't appreciate any type of advertising, respectfully. I would rather you comment on the story itself than tell me about your discord accounts. That's all so READ OR IMMA HUNT YOU DOWN AND MAKE YOU MYSELF!! kay-kay byeeeee!7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlClu3T0UxX
Thud! I wince as my bulky sack falls nosily out my window
Eek! I freeze as I listen again for rustling within the house of my master's widow
Phew! I sigh when no sound stirs within
And climb before the night wears thin...
Grr! I grunt over the weight of my burden on my shoulder
Ugh! I purse my lips over the sight of the massive boulder
Hmph! I roll my eyes at the thought of a new obstacle
But I cannot dally when Fate's patience grows thin over the sight of my struggle
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Wind is friendly, whispering in my ears the promise of a free land
Where I can roam freely and abandon my slave's brand
Where I can find love and other pleasures most teenagers withstand
And finally know Happiness who will walk with me hand in hand
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But alas not until a few miles' worth of walking
With nothing but my rumbling stomach to do the talking,
But, hey I've been wondering
About how Fate seems to be morbidly winking
At my foolish and naive wishful thinking
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Ah! I shriek when a burly hand clasps my arm
Phew! I sigh when I see my assailant means no harm
Ugh! I grumble at the look of fear and anger warring in his dark gaze
Come! I tell him as I lead him to the safety of the corn maze
Ignoring the prattling of my best friend about my obvious craze
Hmph! He pulls his arm for my tight grasp
Huh? He says after my lengthy explanation in the form of a breathy rasp
Ha! He scoffed at the idiocy of my escape plan
Come! He pulls me in the direction of our master's van
Then I realize it is prepped and ready with a quick scan
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Silence greets in the tense moments before leaving
When cold sweat beads down my brow and hands start quivering
But Favor embraces us when we finally have our master's house trailing
And at last, I reward myself the privilege of breathing
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Chatter fills the space where Silence should have been
Sharing a collective faith so bright and alluring that feels very much like a sin
Though Common Sense dutifully bows before the cold regard of Fate, the Queen
And my inner doubts on the success of this endeavor swoops in for the win
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How? I whisper to my friend when we hear the frenzy barks of the bloodhounds
When? I ask at the grim sight of our master's men as the warning shot sounds
Why? I beg at Fate's mercilessness over the angry shouts of the men in pursuit
Well...I say as rage licks at my insides, if we must fall at the hands of a brute
Why not fall with a victorious hoot!
Go! I scream at my friend to step on the accelerator
Move! I urge him when the men give chase no later
Hurry! I say when I spot the number of Land Rovers that pursue us
Drive! I scream at him, ignoring his peeved curse
Calculating how much land we must disperse...
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Malice chuckles at our expense, hinting at the bloodbath sure to come
And Fear clasps his cold fingers over my heart till I'm all but numb
But Courage now fights for his dominance
For the night has yet to end and we still have a chance
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Though I cannot ignore my friend who fights his own war
Over Fear as his Courage fights to win his score
Even now I hate my friend all the more
For instilling this Guilt at my very core
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Look! I say at the sight of the Mississippi river ahead
Good! I sigh in relief at a plan forming in my head
Go! I tell my friend the road we must tread
To hide our scents from the hounds in the water's bed
No! My friend screams at me the dangers of the river
Just Go! I tell him as Panic strangles my bladder
Fine! He says as his lip quiver
Foretelling the pain the water rushes will deliver
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Cold, oh, a deep cold comes
Blood, yes, a rush of blood thrums
As we sink away into Darkness' cold embrace
My loyal friend, he slips into the Other Place...
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"This is Freedom" Fate tells me in a grim voice
"It comes with a price" she continues as my cheeks become moist
"Say it, child" she demands me over the rivers' noise
And I do, "Its Fate's choice." 7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9jzy5rDkhy
He's dead. He's dead. He's dead...
That's my mantra from now on. A steady stream of words that remind me of the sacrifice I made to get me to this point, words that betray me because deep down in the darkest abyss that is my soul, I know that his death is my fault, it's my call, and my ultimate salvation.
But not his...and the worst part is...I can't find it in me to care.
Why, you ask?
Because I have a dream, yes, a dream for the future and understand this, I will never give up until I bring it into fruition.
Hi. I'm Isabella Citte, a female of eighteen years. I have dark skin like Mbombo's night sky and eyes like the honeycomb in the sun. I'm skinny, unfortunately, not as plump as most women my age should be, but it matters not for I do not wish to be attractive because even so, I am meant to be invisible. For one real reason...because I am a slave.
Now I know what you're thinking: "A slave with a dream?! Ridiculous!"
Now, let me tell you, not all slaves are as incompetent as you think. We learn. We adapt. We survive because that is all you can do especially in a world that is ruled by men and not just men but white men where a black female with no roots or family will find it near impossible to be anyone successful in life. But as a slave, the most important trait of all is we pretend.
We pretend to be a lot of things: stupid, dependent and in desperate need of shepherding. We pretend so that no one will know when we're not. So that we, the slaves, have secrets of our own and do things behind the backs of our masters.
Like escaping and running away to paradise...just like what I'm doing right now.
It has been over two weeks on the road, sleeping on hard ground, feasting on rabbits and stale bread, hiding in the shadows to avoid passers in the vehicles. All for one destination...Ohio. The free land. My plan was simple but very time consuming for I could not allow my widowed mistress to know of my escape until the last minute. I had stolen and hoarded months' worth of food and sewn many clothes for each season. I wanted to be prepared for every outcome on my way to freedom for many slaves have tried to escape before...and each of their stories ended horribly.
I've heard the stories from my Baba and Ma back when they were alive. My people would get as far as the Mississippi river and drown, if not, they would die from the cold, cruel water with no medicine to ease their ailment. Even then, if they somehow survived and made it to the border of the free land, they were gunned down by the white men who were aided by the blood hound's tracking skills. So, this journey is anything but easy, still I have made plans for these things and if the gods are with me, I will make it.
I pause in my thoughts and sit up. It is midnight and I sit in my makeshift camp 30 miles from the Mississippi River. I am in a place I am sure is called Kentucky. Kentucky is not a free state but it's a quiet one for the slaves are further down in the lowlands and I have already passed them. But there is much still to fear here. My mistress's men have not stop searching for me though they have lost my scent; they have sent out a ransom here for about one thousand dollars and anyone who finds me here will not hesitate to send me back.
I pull out my map, following the faint lines to my next destination. I must traipse to the northwest border to Indiania for I cannot risk going straight north to Ohio, it's too obvious and the men will most likely be waiting for me at the border. When I reach the neighboring state, I must find an Indian woman by the name of Aditi. A kind, scholarly woman my Ma once spoke of who is secretly part of the society called the Underground Railroad. Once I find her, she will lead me to Ohio safely. But first I must find the first man mama told me would take me to the border.
As the sun gingerly breaks through the night, I pack my sack and put out my small fire. I scatter the leaves to cover my track and head out. Under the blazing sun, I treaded slowly and only stopped for a rest and a quick snack. I plan to arrive at a slave driven farm near the northwest border of Kentucky and from there, straight across the border.
I finally see civilization ahead of me. There. Right over the small hill in the cotton farm owned by a white man and his family, the Huberts, is the farmhouse. The farmhouse is much similar in structure to my mistress': a crude, whitewashed building with a triangular shaped roof, white porch with the bench swing and a blood red barn in the back yard and beyond lays the cotton farm itself with moving brown blurs that can only be the slaves working the farm. Here is the first real challenge of my journey: I must somehow hide among my people until Thanksgiving when in the rush, I must find transport to the border.
Now, how did I come to know of the Huberts and their farm? Well, it is quite the story, so listen well. It was long back when I did not know what it truly meant to be a slave...when my baba chose to join our gods and leave me forever...
"Mama! I'm hungry!" I wail. It is mid-afternoon and my parents are harvesting the cornfields. The master will be returning soon from his business trip up north and tomorrow will be my tenth birthday. The sun is unkind today, making my skin darker than it already is. I'm sweating, my ma is sweating, everyone is sweating but we do not stop to rest. I spy our mistress sitting on the porch, under the blissful shade, knitting away a coat of many colours without a care in the world while we labour till our hands grow numb. I do not understand why we must do the work while she and her husband do nothing. My ma says it because we are slaves, and this is what slaves do though I still do not understand what that means. What is the difference between me and them, we are humans of blood and flesh, gifted with life by the gods who made us. Why must the difference in our skin matter? What is the point of all this?!
My frustration builds as my ma continues to ignore my complaints, her wise eyes unseeing, her hand ploughing away at the ears of corn and into her basket with not much conscious thought. And I help her by peeling away the leaves, leaving it bare and into another basket. But I do not want to work, I want to play, I want to cook something good that with sate the growing hunger that now hollows my insides.
"MAMA! When can we eat?" I wail yet again and this time she does not ignore me. Her eyes flash angrily at me, "Later, Isa! Now work!" I frown but obey.
Later that evening, my ma and I sit among the women surrounding the cook fire for the whites have their meals in the kitchen while we have our meals outdoors and sleep in the barn. The chicken that roasts over the flames is the reward for the day's work, among other things. The men are off further back, chatting as men do, my baba among them. I am so hungry, I could faint, so I helped my ma chop the veggies for the stew, watch the fire and roast the chicken. The women chat amongst themselves as the meal cooks, gossiping and speculating about what the master has been doing on his trip. I love these moments when the sun hangs low over the horizon and we, slaves, engage in fellowship without the stern glare of our mistress. It is the time my ma is most relaxed and teaches me all about cooking.
"Add the rosemary and stir the pot, Isa love," Ma says, and I do, sniffing gratefully at the delectable aromas that whiff out. Almost ready, I think to myself, pleased with my efforts.
Suddenly, a horn sounded and everyone looked up. I know that sound. It means that the master has returned. Several of the men stand, my baba too since he is also the unofficial leader of the group. I watch, curious, as the mistress gets out to meet her husband. They embrace, laugh and joke but that is not what catches my attention. It is the second man who comes out the van.
"Who is the other man, mama?" I ask glancing at her. She frowns, muttering under her breath, ignoring me.
The man is bigger than the master, more round at the gut. Big hands, wide face, crooked smile with gold teeth and something shiny at his waist. He lumbers about, greeting the mistress with a kiss on her hand. Then he turns to us, a strange gleam in his eyes. I do not like it.
"Mama? Who is he?" still she ignores me.
The master and the man walk over to us, speaking in low whispers. A shiver runs down my spine at the look of growing hunger the man has. The men stop, pointing to us. I look around and find many of the women draw back, hurdling together away from the men. Fear thickens the air, but I do not understand what it means...yet.
The strange man walks forward, and Ma tenses beside me, drawing me close to her breast. Her heart hammers and I freeze.
The man stops before us, looking down at Ma, "Pretty face," he says, his voice hoarse and thick with accent, "You have a name, whore?" Ma says nothing, her face blank and eyes unseeing but her heart hammers tenfold.
The man grunts, his hand shots out and a slap sounds hard on my ma's face, "You answer when I speak to you, b*tch! What is your name?" The silence endures; I am too shocked to know what's happening. Ma shoves me behind her, her face still blank and looks at the man, "I am Mariam," she answers.
One of the women pull me closer, away from Ma.
"Mariam?" the man spits, "Well, you'll do nicely, huh?" He pulled at her hair, dragging her away from the group. I cry out but the woman holding me silences me with her hand to my mouth.
My baba steps forward, his face hard, "Wait! Mister!"
The man turns to him with a narrowed gaze, "You dare speak, slave?!"
Baba shuffles forward, his gaze downcast, "If you must you take someone, take me. The woman is with child," turns to me with a sad look, "she is still young."
The master behind the man protests, his disapproval clear, "Silence, slave! John doesn't mind it. Clearly, I have not disciplined it enough."
It, that is what my baba is, an it.
Anger bubbles through me as I watch the scene. Ma has not said anything, still at the wretched man's feet.
"Well, if that the case, maybe it needs to a reminder," the man proceeds to beat Ma hard enough to draw blood. I struggle in my captor's arms, tears slipping as he slaps her, kicks her, spits on her repeatedly until Baba rushes forward, tackling the man to the ground, punching him in the face.
Chaos ensues. Everyone shuffles back and the master, damn him, stands there with his arms crossed, amusement in his malicious gaze.
The man struggles under Baba but finally lands a hard enough punch to knock him back. He stands, a disgusted sneer in his bloodied face. Baba glares at him defiantly, not a hint of fear on his face. The man withdraws that shiny thing from his waist and points it at him, "You filthy son of b*tch! You are nothing, you hear! Nothing!"
Boom!
Baba drops.
Silence...
Then wail to the heavens and Ma rushes to Baba's side. He's not moving...I don't...WHY IS HE NOT MOVING?!
Laughter, I look up and see my master laughing hysterically, "John! You killed a perfectly good slave. Now I'm one short," he places an arm over his shoulders, "Come! Let's some ice before you go purple, Hubert!" The laughter continues as men walk away.
I stand frozen as Ma weeps...and weeps.
"Mama?" I say uncertain, "What's wrong with baba?"
This time she does not ignore me, "He's gone, Isa love. To our gods."'
Tears bead down my cheeks at the memory of Baba's demise. And, lo! How they laughed! Joked at the expense of our grief, at the morbid display of their animalistic viciousness. We are nothing to them, no more than cattle, really. We are beasts to be put down when we disobey. Well, not for much longer. I will prove to them that we are more.
I wait till nightfall before climbing down the hill to cook fires around the barn where the slaves sit. I know what I must do but nervousness thrums through me as I cautiously make my way to them. I shove my way through the cotton farm, my heart hammering in my chest, my breath heavy.
"Gods, be with me," I whisper to the heavens above, begging for favor for the next step. The chat in the air is lively, it brings back memories better left buried. I watch from the shadows for the man I want. He must be here. Mama promised me. I search frantically and it takes some time to find him but when I do, I feel faint with relief.
There he is. My Baba's twin brother.
"Uncle Hector!" I shout, rushing forward, pure joy at the sight of him. Uncle looks up with a blank look before recognition then disbelief and joy, "Isabella!" he roared with his arms wide open. I fall into his arms, and he spins around. We laugh. It is so good to see him after so long.
He sits me down then grips my shoulders and turns me this way and that way. When he is done assessing me, he says, "The gods favor you, Isa. To bring you here...and I had thought..." he shakes his head as agony crossed his face. He is older than the last time we saw each other with wrinkles around his eyes and mouth and greying hair but he still looks like my Baba, so much so that my heart twists as I gaze up at him.
"You know what you must do, yes?" I nod, "Good. I saw the ransom. You were not subtle like you should have been." I hang my head.
"It is fine, Isa but it is more dangerous," he sighs and looks to the house of his master, "The master has left but he will return soon. Likely before Thanksgiving."
Fear wars with rage inside me. John Hubert. Baba's killer. I have come to this farm so many times before and not once has he recognized me even if he was looking straight at me. Even now, after so long, my heart yearns for justice, for retribution but I know deep down, even though I hate to admit it, that it's not possible. The Huberts is a powerful family and if the master suddenly dies, the blame will be with the slaves. Punishment will ensue or worse...
"Come, Isa. Sit. Eat. You have travelled a long way," Uncle says, guiding towards the fire. Dinner has been served and I greet all those I remember from my last time here. We chat about mundane things and share funny stories. And for the first time in nearly a month, I feel peace.
Almost there, I think herself, almost to freedom
Days past, I work on the farms. John the killer has long since returned and with more of his family. They're here for the holidays. They laugh, joke, ignore us as we labour to put food on their table while we eat their strips. I scowl in their direction, watching with envy and hatred as they partake in a barbeque while their children run about, screaming and laughing.
How dare they? How dare they live their lives with such happiness while we serve their every need? What right do they have to lord over us?
I am too lost in my thoughts to notice the shadow over me. A hand touches my shoulder, and I shriek in fright. I turn to find a tall white young man looking down at me. I know who he is; he is the son of my Baba's killer, William Hubert. I have seen him from afar over the years. He's always been quiet and brooding, so different from his wretched father.
My heart jumps in my throat and I quickly look down, feigning submission. No, no, no! Please, gods! You cannot do this to me! Not when I'm so close to freedom.
Is it over? Have they followed me? Am I dead?
I waited, dreading, staring hard at the man's feet, sweat beading down my back.
"Who are you, slave? Have I seen you before "the man asks, his voice rich and deep.
I swallow hard, thinking fast, "I am a new addition, sir."
"Hmm, I suppose," he pauses then lifts my chin, so I am forced to look at him. A strange shiver runs through me at his touch, but I forced my features blank and look away. I have done this so many times, it has become second nature to me.
"You are a pretty face, slave. A bit too pretty. It makes you noticeable and men, bad men will waste no time to make use of you...in more ways than one.' I shudder at his implication, the fear in me rising tenfold. He strokes my chin then grabs my hand and drags me away.
My heart stops as I jog to keep up with his long-legged strides. I panic, look around for an escape but see nothing and the others pretend not to notice me. Only Uncle is bold enough to look at me, fear in his eyes but also determination. He taps his heart twice, a signal, a gesture.
I swallow and nod for I know what he means. I tap my heart twice. This gesture means strength in my gods and in myself.
I force myself to calm and think as the young man drags me away from the farm, past his family who still mingle and into the farmhouse. I dread what is to come but I will not give up.
He pulls me through the front door, through the parlor, past the kitchen and up the stairs to where I know his bedroom will be. I clench my jaw so hard that I can taste blood.
Finally, he reaches his door and shoves me in. The doors slams shut, sealing my fate. In my mind, I pray to the gods to show me mercy, save me from the dark intentions of this white man. He eyes me in silence, running his gaze all over my figure but does not advance. I ignore his regard and keep my face blank and eyes faraway.
He sighs, "Relax. I will not harm you."
I keep my silence and survey his room. It is neat surprisingly: the closet at the right corner behind him, the made four poster bed behind me, the open window on the right wall and bathroom door to the left with shelves of books all around the walls.
"You got yourself trouble, you know? I saw your ransom." I freeze and he chuckles darkly, "Yes, I know who you are, Isabella Citte. Honestly, I'm not surprised you made it this far. Most would be gunned down by now. Shows your strength."
He moves closer, I tense but he only sits at the edge of his bed, "I'm not really surprised my father hasn't noticed you yet. He can be stupid sometimes." He leans back with his hands supporting his head and looks up at me, curiosity in his eyes.
"How did you get here, Isabella?" I say nothing, "You can talk to me" still I say nothing, he sighs and reaches for me. I flinch and step back. I stop and stare at the floor.
He sighs again and sits up, but I do not look up, "Look, we're not all pricks, you know?"
I look up in confusion, he smiles, and damn him, it's a dazzling smile. I take in his features: high cheekbones, sharp jawline, shapely lips, a mop of curly red hair and the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen. I love green, I think to myself and nearly frown and look away. Hatred and rage bubbles up in me, "If we are cattle then you are pricks," I mutter.
He laughs and my face heats.
"Isabella..." he purrs my name and a strange pleasure wash over me at the sound of my name from his lips. I nearly growl in frustration. What is wrong with me?
"I know what you want," I look at him and watch, transfixed, at the burning passion there, "I know you seek freedom and believe or not but so do I," he paused and turns to the window, "This place was home to me for such a long time and all that time, it has suffocated me, sickened me. All this? Slaves and masters? I want no part in it. In fact, one day, I will make sure it ends. I have a dream," he turns back with a smile, "A dream for the future and I know you do too," he takes my hands and looks at me with-I can hardly believe it-genuine compassion, "I can take you away from here. To freedom and you can live your life however you wish."
I gape at him, "You will take me to Ohio? The free land? Are you...the man my mama spoke of?"
Was it possible that my mama convinced a white man to help me?!
"Yes," he caressed my knuckles, " Your mama was a clever woman. She convinced me to become a lawyer so I can save people like you. But, I only agreed because there was still something I needed from her...from you," he tugged at his curls nervously, hesitating, "I, um, I'm in need of a wife."
I can only stare at him in disbelief, not comprehending, "You...me...you hardly know me!"
William looked away, his cheeks reddening, "I, uh, I may have been watching you for years," he clears his throat and my mouth falls open. I remember all the times I have seen him and realized that indeed he has. All those times, he visited my mistress, he asked for me, specifically, to serve him or when I sometimes came here, he'd been hovering at the corner of the field or watching us work while nodding approvingly, while mama gave him knowing looks. He had been watching me. All that time, he'd been watching me.
"I'm a slave," I remind him because I cannot understand why he'd want me, him a white man and I, a black girl with a rebellious heart, "We cannot be."
"Yes, we can," the passion was back in his eyes, "You are not a slave, Isabella. You are woman, " he stood and looked down at her, "A beautiful, beautiful woman," my face heats at his compliment, "There is no law that states that a man cannot take a black woman as a wife," he caresses my cheek affectionately, "You can be my wife and I will take you away from here. I will give you everything, your freedom, your dream and you can be happy for the rest of your life just like you deserve. No more fear. No more running. I will protect you. All I ask is that you be mine."
I stare at his handsome face, unsure if this is real but it is. The gods have heard my prayers, and this man is their answer.
"Very well, William Hubert. I will be your wife, and you will take me away."
He smiles that annoyingly dazzling smile, "I promise." With that he leans in for a kiss and I let him.
Finally, freedom.
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