HeRo (Sⓗort Stⓞrⓘⓔs)

Aesthetic 2

trigger warning: murder, death, slavery
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It could have been a coincidence, or fate. Eloise didn't know if it was either. But as she drove her father's buggy down the old dirt road, her fingers drummed on the wheel. It had been two weeks since she received a letter from Ivan. Be it a busy schedule, or forgetfulness, she felt sad. It was her escape from the real world. All around her life crumbled. Her parents marriage strained. The economy was just as bad.

      It seemed no matter where Elsie went, a dark shadow was in tow.

      As if from thin air, something dark appeared before Elsie and hit her car with a hard “thunk.” Eloise slammed her foot on the brake as her father showed her. It was forbidden by her mother to learn to drive, but her father taught her in secret. The couple were at a dinner with the Holloway's, so she decided to take Bessie for a ride.

      “Oh my Lord,” Elsie screamed, jumping out of the car to check on the thing she hit.

      It was a young man. He was African American, and obviously unconscious. Tears spring to Elsie's eyes, and she bent over to check if the man was alive. His heart still beat. Elsie panicked, and tried to lift the man, but he was simply too heavy. She bit her lip, drawing blood. The woman ran to the trunk of the car and pulled out a wagon. She quickly got the man into the wagon and then used a wooden board to drag him into the back seats. Once he was secured, she left.

      She couldn't possibly bring him home. Her mother would never allow it. So she headed to see Mr. Mic. Mr. Mic was an old mechanic. He ran a good oil business some ways down West Virginia, and was a pleasant man. Eloise pulled up in Mr. Mics lawn, banging on his door in her shock and panic.

      “What in tarnation are you doin’ out this late?” Mic shouted as the door creaked open.

      “Mic!” Elsie shouted, pointing at her vehicle. “I hit a man, a black one, on my way through that old dusty road.”

      Mic didn't hesitate to step out into his front yard and pull the man out from the back seat. Elsie followed closely behind, her face set in a worried expression. The man was so still it was scary to watch Mitch clean his wounds.

      It wasn't until six hours later that Stanley arose. His head felt groggy, vision murky and constantly unfocusing.

      “Ya finally awake?” A voice asked, making Stan's head whip to the side. It was a bad move, considering it ached.

      “Calm down boy, ain't nobody tryna whoop you,” Mic said, smacking his knee as he laughed. Stanley sat up, with help from the white man - Mic he said his name was - and was given a hot cup of black coffee. Grateful, Stanley finished it off with a bowl of gumbo, Louisiana style.

      “Mic, is he awake?”

      A melodic voice came from the stairway. Stanley's head shot to where he heard the angelic voice and froze. A beauty awaited Stanley. She wore a pale pink dress, going down to her mid calves. Her hair was hanging down, fly aways present in her rose gold locks. Her face instantly transformed into one of pure joy as she leapt from the stairs.

     “Are you okay?” the woman asked Stanley. He nodded, his head spinning.

     “Well, that’s good. Who are you?” she said, curiosity painting her features a bright blend of colors. Stanley couldn't help but be mesmerized her her. He had never seen anyone so bright and happy and...unique before. She was something of an oddity. As a slave for most of his life, he was never given kindness from anyone but his family. Except his father. His father had been a rich plantation owner, and his mother was the white man’s mistress. Stanley shook off the unsettling thought, and replied to the rose gold princess before him.