A Game of Colours

Chapter 2: Robin Hood

It takes all my willpower to open my eyes the next morning. For fear of being back where I belong, back where my whole life I have been told I deserve to be. I physically shake my head; willing myself to believe there is somewhere I can truly call home. I don't know where somewhere is, but it must be better than where I have come from. 

My body aches from lying on the forest ground all night. I hear water rushing nearby, and only then realize I am the thirstiest I have ever been. I quickly scramble to my feet and head towards the sound. Greedily, I plunge my hands into the cold river, drinking up as much as I can and washing my face. It feels sticky from the dried blood where my cheek was slashed. I stop for a moment when I see myself reflected in the water. A scrawny, 17 year old girl. My face is gaunt and thin, and my thick black hair is matted and a mess. I look more a beast than a human.

But you're alive, I remind myself and it fills me with pride I have never felt.

 I inspect my arms and legs with a sort of childish wonder. Not even one rope or chain binds them. I realize if I'm going to keep it that way, I need to start moving.

The punishment of death is a strong source of motivation, that much I have come to learn. I study my surroundings nervously, constantly listening for the slightest suspicious sound. Summer is ending, and though I move quickly and quietly, the weight of my feet on top of the fallen, rotting leaves makes noises that a slave catcher has come to recognize and track down well. Afraid of going in the wrong direction and walking right into Frederick's waiting arms, I decide to hug the river bank until I reach a village where I can get help. 

After a few hours, I grow weary and my hunger for food begins to overpower my hunger for freedom. I realize that if I'm going to make it anywhere, I need to rest and play it smart. Tiredly, I decide to hide in a cluster of bushes, where I can be close to the river bank but fairly well hidden. Unable to fall asleep for fear of being discovered, I study the forest canopy in wonder. The rush of plantation life leaves little time to enjoy such simple pleasures. The leaves are dancing gracefully in a tango with the wind, in all sorts of brilliant hues--some violently red, with a passion that cannot be matched, others as orange as a sunset, and more still some cheerfully yellow as they fall weightlessly to the ground. Where before they were nothing but a dreadful reminder of the coming winter, now they are a comforting spirit that brings me hope.

My ears prick up a few moments later, as I hear harsh whispers coming not too far away. I sit up immediately, attempting to search for the source through the gaps in the bushes.

I scan the river bank, when I spot two people, one tall and imposing, the other small and plump, a fair distance away. I do not recognize them from my plantation, and momentary relief floods through me. As long as they are not slave catchers, I may make it through this unscathed. Curiously, I strain my ears to hear their conversation.

 "You fool!" spits the plump one, "you could've just ruined the lot of us. Reckon they'll be by the shelter by tonight checking up. Five slaves?!"

"Ah dinnae tink heed notice anyway," chuckles the tall one, "dat bumblin idiot Johnson's got two 'undred of dem and counting in dat retched hellhole."

"Where do you plan on hiding them anyway?! In the basement? With the four others we've already got hiding from the Jensen Plantation? You're willing to save anyone but yourself here! They'll have our necks, I tell you."

My blood boils and I clench my fists in anger. They've been stealing slaves from plantations to make their own profit off of an already dirty game. I feel my whole body compress, as if shrinking will make it harder for them to notice me. Where there is fury, I feel fear. If they discover me, I will wish I had stayed tied to that post with a knife to my neck.