HeRo (Sⓗort Stⓞrⓘⓔs)

Aesthetic

Aesthetic

[Original idea]
-trigger warning: racial slurs, slavery, abuse-

      Rarely ever was it a nice night in Clayton West Virginia. Elsie McDo
well came to the conclusion as her bare toes edged to the tip of her porch. The air was sticky and murky, making the flat surface moist and uncomfortable. Elsie grimaced, but continued her descent down the steps of her old home, paint cracking as she made her way to her mailbox.

      Elsie was much of what many West Virginians would call a Yankee. Yankees weren't well liked in the southern Confederacy. Elsie disliked them as much as they hated her. She was born and raised in Gettysburg Pennsylvania. Her father was the owner of a railroad company, so she had the pleasure of a convenient life. Though, she was never spoiled.

      “We McDowell women work as hard as the next man,” Elsie remember her mother telling her, a stern glint in her steely blues.

      “We are beautiful, but we are strong. And someday, when your daddy and I leave this God given Earth, you'll have everything you'll need.”

      Or so her mother thought. It wasn't until the battle of Gettysburg when everything went to hell in a handbasket. Her father's railroad tracks had been ripped up by stray Confederates, leaving them with no income. Soon, all their money began to waste away, and they were forced to move in with their extended family in Virginia. Later that year, Elsie became engaged to Ivan Holloway, another wealthy southern family.

      It was this reason Elsie slipped out in the middle of the night to receive mail. She was waiting for her letter from Ivan.

      Elsie had gotten to know Ivan during her duration of living with him. She had found herself infatuated with his gruff and surly attitude, his matureness, and wiseness. Elsie had always had a childish outlook on life, and he interested her.

       Six months later, he was forced to join the Confederate army.

      “My dearest Ivan, how I miss you,” she murmured to herself.

      Elsie ran a finger across the mailbox, dust coming off in a satisfying sweep. She awaited a letter from Ivan, or Ike as he liked to be called. He always gave her short replies, no more than a paragraph or so, in crude descriptions, and small chatter. It was a miniscule, but appeasing gesture that warmed her blood.

      Not a minute later, a figure appeared in the distance.

     “Lance! Lance darling, do come faster!”

      “Howdy, Miz McDowell,” Lance chuckled, tipping his hat at the strange Northerner, quickening his pace, reaching her.

      “Good evening Lance, do you have a letter for me?” Elsie asked, excitement evident.

      “‘Course,” he said.

       Lance was an African American, or a negro as southerners liked to say. He had a large forehead below a tuft of black, curly textured hair. His eyes were wide, above his wide nose and broader smile, showing off his pearly whites. In contrast, Elsie was pale as could be. Her skin was milky, with a heart shaped face, wide cheekbones, and thick lips below a dainty nose. Rose gold hair tumbled over her left shoulder as she reached out to hug Lance.

      Lance was taken aback. When the Yankee woman let him go, he chuckled and awkwardly shuffled.

      “Here's a paper Miz McDowell. Enjoy yer night.”