QUICK RECAP
I hear a crack but am too numb to feel the sting of the whip. "UP, YE LAZY GOOD FOR NOTHING RUNT! DID I SAY YOU COULD REST?"
Isaac growls and lunges out to grab the whip from him, but his hands are bound too tight and he can't reach him.
"Don't you touch her, you piece of shit." he warns.
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"Alice, get up" he pleads.
One more lash.
"Alice, look at me. We'll get through this. But I need you to get up."
I meet his eyes, so strong and full of determination.
"Please. For Tom."
I rise painfully.
"Don't you slow my bloody wagon again." he warns, and makes his way back to the front.
"I'm sorry Isaac. We shouldn't both be here."
"Don't you ever feel guilty. It's not you whipping me, or chaining me. It's him. It's them. I only thank you for getting through this with me. Together."
"Together", I echo.
Finally, night falls. The wagons stops completely in front of a small inn. There are lights inside, and I hear music. Laughter. I long to be in there, one of the white people. Not for their skin, but for their freedom that I now know I can never have.
Harold ties up the horses to a post nearby, and makes sure the crate the slaves are in is locked.
"You aren't going to let them out? They can't sleep cramped up like that," I complain
I regret protesting immediately. I know how low this man can sink already.
He laughs and enters the inn without a second glance.
Isaac looks at me curiously. "We should get some sleep."
I lie as comfortably as I can on the dirt. It's where I belong, isn't it?
My ankles are sore from the chains, and the flesh is exposed in some places. It stings when I move. I hold my tears back. I'm not going to cry, not in front of Isaac. Or anyone.
I hear the men singing from the inn, and it's a song I've heard before. At my old plantation, the men used to get drunk and sing it long into the night. Then, they'd be grouchy and tired the next morning and take it out on us with a whip and harsh words.
I find it hard to sleep right now. I'm sore and thirsty. I decide to sing a song myself to help pass the time. My mother taught it to me.
"Lift every voice and sing" I whisper softly, "till earth and heaven ring. Ring with the harmonies of Liberty, let our rejoicing rise, high as the list'ning skies".
Isaac cocks his head like a dog, curious as to what I'm doing.
"Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us, sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us," I sing
The slaves in the crate stir, and they look at us through the wooden planks.
A woman, about 30, joins me.
"Facing the rising sun of our new day begun, let us march on till victory is won" she hums, a little louder.
Another man from the crate continues the next verse proudly.
"You really are something." He smiles at me. It's a familiar tune among our people.
It must be quite a sight, I think, a few slaves outside an inn, singing dangerously loud but making promises of freedom.
YOU ARE READING
A Game of Colours
Historical FictionBorn to a middle class family in New York City, Alice's life changes forever when she and her family are kidnapped and sold into slavery. She is torn away from everything she loves and only allowed to keep her name. She is forced to work long hours...
