Songs Of Sparrow

Songs of Departure (1)

SONGS OF DEPARTURE:

Chapter One (thirteen years, 50 days)

“LAUREN," MY FRIEND, Hannah, called, “Master wants ya. Said it was real 'portant.” I saw a flash of worry cripple her hearty features, her brown eyes scrutinizing me intently. Mama's death. Everyone 'round here knew about it; especially since Missus Harton had so rudely criticized Mama, calling her a vexed monkey. Of course, my rude mouth had gotten me sixty lashes, leaving my lamed body to wither in pain.
The scar's still there—a faint discolored swell, now loss with the sense of touch, but I fought for Mama, and I know she would've done the same for me. I wiped the coated sweat that pricked onto my scalding forehead, leaving my bucket of corn to stay unattended, and willed myself to get up, though I didn't want to. I didn't want to look into the stony eyes of Master and Missus Harton. I despised the man who allowed Ma to die, to allow me to see my mother hung, her limp body void of any emotion. Mama, when alive, was always full of emotion, whether it be love, sadness, affection, she was always affectionate. But as she hung from the wagon, the Crackers throwing onions and Bibles at her, I realized that Ma was here no more. And it took a while before I could tell Robin. When she had asked, with her brown, doe-like eyes, I wanted to burst into tears; but Ma wouldn't have wanted that, so I pulled myself together and 'fessed. And as Robin smiled and said, “Gotcha”, I wanted to pinch her to show my seriousness, but instead, I just hugged her tightly, inhaling and preserving her strong, whisked cinnamon scent. Robin was all I had, and she was too young to be taken from my sight. My certainty would've remained unwavering with Ma here, but she wasn't and it wavered mighty unsteadily.

I snapped out of my thoughts as I stood before Master's house, my hands contemplating whether to open the door or not. Why I was frightened, I know not, but my stomach twisted into knots upon knots, getting tighter and tighter the following time again. Suddenly, still indecisive, the door fiddled, and then opened. Into view came Missus, her dirty blonde hair was morphed into a fancy bun, leaving a few sifts of hair curling delicately at the ends. Missus would've been a true beauty if it wasn't a'for her scowling face, and her Satan infested personality.

“Get in here, lass,” she ordered, her throaty voice causing shivers to shoot down my spine. I quickly obeyed, ambling throughout the large parlor, where I found a very troubled Master seated. Knowing my eyes knew of no betrayal, I couldn't help but let out a gasp of shock and pain as I saw who remained seated next to him, head bowed defeated. Robin.

Her hair was messy, a few strands sticking out, and I couldn't help but whimper as I saw chains shackle her hands.

“Sparrow,” Master greeted, his rough and husky voice reverberating throughout the capacious room.

I stood there, body stiff and head gazing forward, daring myself not to look into his lifeless, gray eyes; if I allowed myself to look at him, he would see how vulnerable and weak I came to be.

Unexpectedly, a callous hand slapped my face, causing it to burn severely. Seconds after, Missus entered into my sight, shooting me a sour look.

“You darned goat. When addressed, you answer the darnedest greeting. Just like your mama; a fool and got no will to hide it.” As the venomous words splurged forth from her mouth, I had a great urge to strike her; to leave her bloody and near death. Yet I bit on my tongue, suppressing my thoughts, no matter how much I didn't want to. Yet, as my freedom had been repressed, so had many of my natural rights. And, as usual, I let my head fall.