Years of Dying

Chapter Seven

I want happiness.

I want to be safe.

I want my friends.

I want to be respected.

I know what's causing our pain.

It started when I was born.

It started when I was sent to the mines.

It started when I left France.

It started after my father left.

I had two great friends. And something more. At least to me.

John is the only one who matters to me. But at the moment, I can't even take care of myself.

Four friends should never be forced to separate. But we did, and it's the British's fault.

I had started to like John, trust him with my heart. My heart as been ripped into pieces.

I

Want

To

Feel

Whole.

I feel exhausted and empty. Last night, I poured everything I was feeling into my journal. I didn't care if the Captain read it or not, I'm guessing he doesn't though, because it hasn't left my room. I should have known, he doesn't care about me. He also lied to me, but he's been doing that my whole life. He told me the journal would make me feel better, but I only feel worse. I can't pin down exactly how sad, or how depressed I am right now, but what I do know is that the feeling of sitting here and doing nothing is unbearable. I need to talk to someone, but I don't have anyone. Hercules is chained up somewhere, and unreachable. Lafayette is at the rebel's base and there's no way to talk to him. And Alex... I don't even know if I could talk to Alex, even if he was sitting next to me. He'd want me too. He'd want me to tell him how I'm feeling, and I would probably try. But I get this feeling in my gut whenever I speak to him. It makes my tongue twisted sometimes, and then I just sound stupid.
A loud blaring over the speakers makes me jump. I've been here for almost a month, and I'm still not used to the wake up calls. I sit up from my bed, and trudge towards the door. I don't bother changing into a fresh uniform, because I'm past taking care of myself.

     My station today is at the quarry. Which means, just stay in one place and report any slave activity. It feels weird, to be the one issuing the orders. To watch the beaten down bodies of sad people clamber into an elevator. Maybe that's why I don't watch them. Instead, I focus on some stone on the another side of the quarry. I don't feel like being glared at right now.
     Several hours later, the elevator starts moving again, and I know the slaves will be coming up for lunch. Do it for Hercules. I tell myself as a guard passes me a bag filled with stale bread. I'm supposed to hand it out to passing slaves. Do it for Herc. I think, focusing on nothing else. I envision Herc somewhere, chained up. Sad. But safe. Safe for now. Until I find a way to get out of here. Do it for him. As he would do for you. I say to myself as people start to go down into the elevator again, going to mine for five more hours. Do it for Herc. The last load of people go in. Do it for Herc. The first hour ticks by. Do it for Herc. The second. Do it for Herc. The third. Do it for Herc. Two more hours left. Do it for Herc. One hour left, and the slaves would be done for the day. Do it for Herc. The elevator creaks again, the rusted chains clanking into actions. Do it for Herc. The first load of people come out, and trudge, weary and tired. Do it for him. The second load is off of the elevator. Do it for-
     "Herc!" There he is. In a crowd of other slaves, all heading for their sleeping quarters. He turns his head to stare back at me in surprise. It is him. What is he doing here?
     "John?" he croaks. "What are you-" then a look comes across his face. It's beyond anger, or disgust. I don't even know what it is, all I know, is that he's upset. He shakes his head and without looking around again, turns his back on me.

    Tears slip down my face and onto the soft fabric of my blanket. I wrap my arms tighter around my pillow, and bury my face into it. Not wanting to be seen, but there's no one here to do the seeing. Before I collapsed on my bed, I stripped off my red uniform, and flung it in the darkest corner of my room. Because I know why Hercules turned his back on me. It's because he saw me as a guard. When I saw him for the briefest moment before the new slaves arrived, it hadn't crossed my mind to tell him. No, in that moment, what mattered was him, and only him. Nobody else. I didn't have time to explain. Explain why I had suddenly turned traitor. It was for his own good, I did it to protect him. But protect him from what? Because if the Captain has made him a slave again... there really is no justice in the world.

     "Laf."
     "I know."
     "You're supporting Jefferson."
      "I know."
      "It better not be because you look exactly alike."
      "Non, Alexander, it's not."
      "You realize that this plan can go horribly wrong right?"
      "I am fully aware of the many possibilities of my letter falling into the wrong hands."
     "Even with a code like this, a sharp eye can break it."
     "I know."
     "John could end up in serious trouble if anyone finds out."
     "He's already in serious trouble. And so is Hercules. But I think- I think John has a better chance of reading this than Herc does. Hercules is trapped, somewhere in the base. But John, there are many different possibilities on why the Captain wanted him back."
     "Yes, but your idea just seems so far fetched. Why would the Captain want to make John a guard? How do we even know he was made a guard? What if John refused. See? Many different ways you could be wrong."
     "Or maybe I could be right, and we are able to contact our friend. You said you loved him, you'd do this for him, wouldn't you?"
     "Of course."
     "Alright then, what are we waiting for? Let's do this!"
     "Let's go fuck some shit up."