Creepy Medical Advancement

So I was surfing around the internet today and came across the following article: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090226/ap_on_he_me/med_making_teeth_grow

In case you’re like me (which you very well may be) and don’t end up clicking on the link, taking time to read what the article is about, a bunch of scientists have unlocked the gene that causes sharks to grow more than one set of teeth so that when their teeth fall out, another is there to replace it. These geneticists have tried the gene out on mice and found that as a result, they are able to cause these mice to grow multiple rows of teeth. Their next subject: humans. These geneticists believe that if humans can gain the gene to have this tooth-row-gene, it will allow humans to grow multiple rows of teeth so that if a tooth falls out or wears out, another can simply take its place, thus eliminating the need for dentures or toothless grins.
However, don’t you think this would be creepy? Someone might smile and you would find five rows of teeth in their mouth. Also, could this cause genetic differences in humans? Would humans begin to have differently shaped heads and jaws to accommodate more teeth? Would they also, as a result, have sharper teeth accustomed to carnivorous animals, rather than the combination of carnivorous and plant-eating animals? What about other effects? Could humans gain some unforeseen effects, such as growing gills or eating their young? And isn’t putting this gene into humans almost like “playing God” by altering human genetics and future generations?

What do you guys think? Leave me a comment and let me know!

 

Conclusion of “Unshackled”

Hello, my friends!

I’ve decided to torture you all long enough and finally post the conclusion of my slave epic, “Unshackled.” Enjoy!

 

VII.

     As Sefu stepped over the threshold into the mansion, he stared around him in awe. The front door opened into a grand foyer, which was illuminated by a magnificent silver and crystal chandelier candelabra hanging from the decoratively sculpted ceiling. A elegant staircase slunk down from the second floor to the first floor, hugging the wall as it eased down to the ground. Every step was covered in a maroon velvet run on top of oak hardwood floor panels. At the top of the stairs, a landing extended twenty feet before curving around to the opposite wall and creating a balcony for those on the second floor to look down to the foyer. Every spindle was made of beautifully carved mahogany, portraying flowers and blossoms as it met with the bright white trim that joined the steps to the wall. Magnificent marble pillars as big around as large trees held the ceiling in place along the side walls. Glass-topped tables under the balcony and along the stairs had a few vases full of fresh flowers, while a large golden-bordered mirror hung over the table on the wall on the side of the stairs.

     “This is amazin’, suh!” Sefu said, awestruck. “But Ah don’ desuhv to live heah like you. You’s da massuh, not me. Dis heah mansion is fo’ you an’ yo’ fam’ly. Ah’ll jus’ live in mah shack down bah da fields.” Sefu looked at the Old Master and noticed a smile creeping into his eyes.

     “But Sefu, don’t you realize? I want you to be my family now.” The Old Master stepped over to the slave and put his arm around the black man. “I want you to live here with me. While you are here, you will never be sad or sick or in pain again. I have a room prepared for you and all of your needs will be taken care of. My son even sacrificed himself so you could come live with us. Will you stay with me, Sefu?” The slave didn’t need any more request than that. He laughed joyfully and put his arm around the Old Master.

     From the back room, a bell began to ring. “Oh, dinner’s ready!” the Old Master said, hobbling toward the back of the house and rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. “I hear we’re having liver and onions tonight. I can’t wait!” Sefu looked over to the Master, who silently made a face resembling someone vomiting behind his father’s back about the idea of eating liver and onions; Sefu stifled his laughter.

     As they made their way to the back of the house, Sefu marveled at the abundance of golden and silver articles on tables, velvet curtains around the windows, marble and hard oak wood prevalent materials used throughout the mansion. Large, comfortable-looking couches and chairs filled every room, yet there were no people to be seen anywhere. He also walked through a room full of exotic plants, small trees and flowers, with beautiful butterflies and birds flying freely around the room. When Sefu mentioned to the Master that he had never seen so many candles giving light at one time, the Master replied that the candles were never extinguished, that unlike the slave camp, there was always light in the Big House.

     The trio finally arrived at a pair of large, heavy wooden doors. “Sefu,” the Old Master said, grinning at the slave, “this is the Great Hall.” The Old Master pulled the door open, to reveal a large room, complete with a roaring fireplace at the opposite end of the room. The room was decorated in a similar way to the rest of the house, with long golden-edged mirrors spanning lengths of wall, a floral pattern carved in the wooden trim near the ceiling and a sculpted ornate lotus encircled by garlands ringed the candelabra chandelier hanging from the center of the room’s ceiling.

A fifty-foot long table with numerous comfortable-looking chairs surrounded the table. Numerous men, all of them dressed nicely, with very light hair and very handsome, were walking in and out of a pair of double doors along one of the walls, setting food on the table. The thing that confused Sefu the most about this picture was that all of the men setting the table were white. Sefu quickly hurried towards one of the men carrying the food into the Great Hall and tried to take it from him, to do his duty as a slave.

“I can do this, Mister Sefu,” the young man said kindly, as he smiled at the slave. Puzzled, Sefu walked across the room and started to open the double doors leading, presumably, to the kitchen. As he pushed the doors open, another very handsome young man with very light hair walked up to Sefu. “Mister Sefu, we would like to serve you. Why don’t you go have a seat and relax for awhile? You deserve it, sir.” Gently, the young man turned the slave around and guided him gently back into the Great Hall. He smiled at the black man and then walked back into the kitchen, shutting the doors behind him. The Master and Old Master had already sat down at the table. They were watching him with a hint of smile playing at their lips. Giving in, Sefu sat on the left side of the table near the end, opposite of the Master and Old Master, who sat across from each other, the chair at the very end of the table vacant.

Laughing could be heard from the other side of the entrance doors to the Great Hall. Suddenly, the doors burst open and dozens of people poured into the room, both black and white. A familiar voice was heard in the monotonous murmur of the crowd.

“Sefu!” a voice yelled. Sefu stood up and looked to the person whom he hadn’t seen for almost a week.

“Sokkwi?” His friend ran towards him and embraced him tightly. “Sokkwi, we thought you was dead,” Sefu said. The two let go and sat down in their chairs at the table.

“Naw, da Ole’ Massuh took me in like he’s took you in. An’ guess what? Mah name idn’t Sefu no mo’. Da Ole’ Massuh give me a new name! Mah name is Adeagbo now,” Sefu’s friend explained.

“A new name? Why would he give you a new name?” Sefu asked. He suddenly realized that he was the only one speaking. Everyone was looking at him. Looking down the length of the table, he realized that the Old Master and the Master were standing up, looking at him in a way that said they wanted to speak. “Erm..sorry, Massuhs,” he muttered.

“Sefu, may I ask why you’re just sitting there?” the Old Master asked. Sefu quickly stood up. Turning his attention to the rest of the table, the Old Master addressed the rest of those seated. “What do you all think, should Sefu just be sitting there? I do believe we have some things to take care of before the meal, anyways. My son, will you please get our friend, here, out of these dirty clothes?”

“I would love to, father,” the Master said, smiling at his father. He stood up and walked down the length of the table, and putting his arm around Sefu, led him to another door in the Great Hall. He opened it and led the black man down the hallway and into a small room; the only things in the room was a armoire, a curtain and a red washbasin filled with steaming water. The red color of the washbasin made the water appear red. The Master handed Sefu a pair of white undershorts and asked him to take off his clothes behind the curtain, followed by putting on the clean undershorts for privacy. Next, the Master had Sefu stand near the washbasin and dipped a white cloth in the water, which made the cloth look red. He spent the next half hour, gently washing away all the filth and dirt that had collected and stuck itself to Sefu’s body over the years. Sefu watched as the dirt turned to mud as the Master gently used the warm water to wipe the filth off his body and watched it run to the floor in dribbles down his legs. After the Master was done cleaning him, he gave Sefu a new pair of white undershorts, as well as a clean shirt and pair of slacks. Sefu went over to the curtain, and when he was done dressing, he realized that all the clothes fit him perfectly.

When Sefu and the Master reentered the Great Hall, everyone stopped talking and looked at Sefu with a smile on their face. He smiled back at them, feeling awkward, and slowly made his way back to his chair. As he was sitting down, however, the Old Master stood up next to his son and said loudly, “Sefu, I think you’re in the wrong spot. Will you please come up here and sit between my son and I at the seat of honor?” Flabbergasted, Sefu walked towards the head of the table, every eye on him. When he got to the head of the table, he sat down. “And now,” the Old Master said, “we shall eat.” He and his son sat down and the people gathered around the table began reaching for food and putting it on their plates, talking to each other as though nothing had happened.

“Sir, I don’t understand,” Sefu said to the Old Master.

“Don’t worry, my friend. You will understand, in time.” The old man smiled at Sefu and plopped a slab of liver onto his plate. Teasingly, the Master looked over at Sefu and made a gagging sound. A smile broke out on Sefu’s face.

“What? I can’t enjoy some liver and onions once in awhile? If you can enjoy that odd food, what is it called, ice cream, then I don’t see why I can’t enjoy something normal like liver and onions,” the Old Master lectured. Sefu had no idea what the Old Master was talking about, but whatever it was, the Master found it funny.

After the meal was done, the handsome men returned and cleared the remaining food and dishes away as one entered and placed a large book in front of the Old Master. The rest of the people sitting around the table were talking casually with an occasional laugh echoing through the room.

Suddenly, the doors to the rest of the room burst open and one of the handsome men entered. He walked over to the Old Master and stooped down, whispering something in his ear. Without missing a beat, the Old Master’s face went from excited to grave. “Bring him in,” he said. The talking died down as the atmosphere of the room changed.

The handsome young man exited the room and reentered a second later, a similar looking young man behind him, pulling a black man along. Upon arriving before the Old Master, the handsome young men let go of their captive and stepped away to the door through which they had entered. The black man, however, remained in front of the Old Master, his head lowered.

“Lucifer,” the Old Master said. Sefu gasped, the flames of hatred flaring up inside him. “What do you want?”

The old man smiled his toothless grin, winking at Sefu. “Suh, Ah’m cumin’ befo’ you on behalf of da lynch mob out yonduh,” the slave said.

“That’s alright, Lucifer. I’ve already met with Sheriff McCullough and everything has been worked out,” the Old Master said.

“Ah don’t think you know what dis’ere nigguh has done, suh,” Lucifer said. “He has cheated on his pickins in da field. He has plotted against yuh an’ yer son. He has stolen eggs from da henhouse on numerous occasions and has talked back to da overseers many tahms.” The old man crossed his arms and smiled smugly. Sefu sunk down in his chair. The Old Master looked at Sefu disapprovingly and then looked over at Lucifer.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lucifer,” the Old Master said. The smug smile dropped off the old man’s face into a look of horror.

“Well, um, he tried to escape from dis’ere plantashun and he killed dat nigguh huntuh’s dawg and da othuh huntuh’s haws!” the old man accused, pointing his finger at Sefu.

“I took his punishment for that,” the Master said firmly, his eyes glued to Sefu’s accuser. Lucifer’s horror turned to anger.

“He stole a pisto’ from yo’ gun cabinet and he was gunna use it to kill y’all in yo’ sleep tonight! It’s in his shack right naw!” the old man yelled, specks of spittle flying from his lips.

The door opened that led to the rest of the house and Calloway entered. He nodded to Sefu and walked towards the Master and the Old Master.

“Actually, Lucifuh, Ah watched you take that gun out’uf the gun cabinet. Ah also saw yuh bring that gun to Sefu’s shack last night,” Calloway explained. He turned to Sefu. “Ah’ve been watchin’ over yuh, Sefu,” he explained. Sefu gasped as Calloway took off his cowboy hat, revealing very light hair. Sefu realized he was like the rest of the handsome, light-haired servants of the house.

“Get him out of my sight,” the Old Master said, scowling and shaking in fury. Calloway grabbed the old man by the arm and pulled him out of the room. Lucifer tried fighting back as he yelled.

“Y’all don’ deserve to be heah, Sefu! You ah a lyin’, cheatin’, low-down nigguh an’ dat’s all yu’ll evuh be! Yuh deserve to be flogged, hamstrung and hung! Ah’ll see to it dat yer lynched! If Ah was de massuh, you would nevuh set foot in mah house-”

“HOLD IT!” the Old Master bellowed. Calloway stopped pulling the old slave as the Old Master rushed towards him. The Old Master got in Lucifer’s face and began to explain to him in an enraged voice, “You always wanted to be Master. You weren’t content serving me. I offered you a spot as one of my most important servants and you weren’t content. You wanted to rule, to do things your own way. That is why you don’t have a place in my house! That is why you will never have a place in my house! You have no power here anymore. Now get him out of here!”

Calloway began to pull the old slave out of the room, but he began to struggle against him again. Tired of trying to fight the old man, the light-haired man lifted Lucifer up and threw him over his shoulder, carrying him out of the room as he screamed and yelled and fought. As the doors closed behind the pair, the Old Master took a deep breath and let it out. He turned to Sefu and smiled at him.

“Back to business,” the Old Master said. “I have had your name in my book, Sefu, since before you were born. This book has in it the name of every person that I want to live in my home with my son and I.” The Old Master opened the book to a page that had Sefu’s picture, as well as all of his personal information, such as his birthday, his likes and dislikes, and more. However, the name at the top of the page wasn’t Sefu’s name.

“ ‘Sceewz me, suh, but dat’ere isn’t mah name,” Sefu said, pointing at the name above his picture in the Old Master’s book.

“Let me explain something to you, Sefu,” the Old Master began. “I want you to have a new life, to be a part of my family. As a result, you need to put your old self, your old life behind you in order to embrace your new life with me here in my mansion. For example, your best friend, the old name of your friend, Sokkwi, meant ‘fool.’ However, his new name, Adeagbo, means ‘he brings honor.’ Your old name, Sefu, means ‘sword.’ You were a rebellious man before you came to live here. Lucifer was right. You did lie about your pickings, talk back to the overseer, destroy the slave hunters’ property by killing their horse and dog, and try to escape, leaving us behind. However, I loved you so much that I sent my son after you to save you because I wanted you to come live with me, ultimately causing him to sacrifice his body and life for you so you would live. As a result, I want you to forget your old life, to put it behind you, and to assume a new life and a new identity. As a result, your name shall no longer be Sefu, or ‘sword,’ but it shall now be Amadi, which means ‘free man.’”

The name that the Old Master had given him, which matched that shown in the book, seemed right to the man who had previously been known as Sefu. Amadi looked down the table at his new family and smiled. They all stood up and began to clap and cheer, as the Old Master embraced Amadi and whispered a few words in his ear: “Welcome to the family, my son. Welcome home.”

 

Part Four of “Unshackled”

Part four of my short story, “Unshackled!”

If you haven’t been following the story up to this point, make sure you go back and read from Chapter one on so that you don’t ruin the story for yourself!

 

V.

Sefu arrived back to the plantation early the next morning as the rest of the slaves were beginning to head out to the fields to work for the day. Not wanting the rest of the slaves to incite rebellion or think of him as a hero, as well as the slave drivers from thinking that Sefu had beaten the Master this badly, the slave stopped the horse a few feet from the tree line and tied him off where he couldn’t be seen from the fields. Sefu decided that if there was anyone to approach about it, Calloway was the one to approach. Then, nonchalantly, the fugitive slowly walked toward the field, where Calloway was seated on his horse, watching over the working slaves.

“Uh, Mistuh Calluhway, suh?” Sefu said, not looking Calloway in the eyes until he was addressed.

“Whah, look who showed up. I figger’d you’d be halfway to Jacksonville bah now, dat is if you’s was steel alahv,” Calloway said sarcastically.

“Suh, I have sumthin’ I need to show yuh,” Sefu said nervously as he started to walk back toward the tree line.

“Come back heah, boy!” Calloway said. “Ah say, listen to me when I speak to yuh!” The overseer turned his horse around and began trotting toward the tree line that Sefu had entered. Upon reaching the treeline, Calloway hopped off his horse and followed the slave into the forest. “What’s da meanin’ of dis, Sefu?” Calloway asked. He saw a horse tied to a tree about twenty feet away with a ragged red mass on the saddle. Stopping short, the white man asked, “What is dat, Sefu?”

The slave turned around, tears streaming down his face. “Suh, he came aftuh me. Ah didn’t wan’ no trouble, suh, I sweah-” but the fugitive was cut short by a growl from the overseer, who rushed forward and grabbed Sefu by the collar, thrusting him against a tree. Just as he was pulling his fist back to hit Sefu, a sound caused him to stop.

“D-don’t hurt the boy. It isn’t his fault, George.” Calloway quickly turned around to the horse to see that the swollen, broken Master was speaking to him, one eye open. “Take me to my father, George. He will take care of me. Let the Negro go back to his hut, give him some bread and water, and post a constant watch over him.”

“You heard the Mastuh, Sefu,” Calloway said, sighing as he untied the horse from the tree. “Le’s get you to yo’ hut and get da Mastuh da help he needs.” Sefu followed the slave driver as he walked out of the woods, making sure to untie his own horse from the tree and lead them both back towards the plantation.

When the three men and two horses had gotten closer to the other overseers, Calloway whistled and called out the name of one of the other overseers, Mister Davidson. Davidson was known for being tough on the slaves. Calloway explained to Davidson what the Master had asked them to do and Davidson agreed to help, although reluctantly.

Sefu breathed a sigh of relief, however, when Calloway handed the reins of the horses to Davidson, asking him to bring the horses to the stable and the Master to his father at the Big House. Davidson began to protest because, Sefu was sure, he wanted to punish the slave for hurting a white man in that way. Calloway must have picked up on this, however, and decided that the more aggressive overseer would be better suited to bring the Master for help.

Calloway brought Sefu to his shack and then went to the storehouse to get the slave some bread and water. Upon returning and feeding the slave, Calloway pulled up a crate and asked Sefu to recount to him what had happened. Sefu spent the next fifteen minutes recounting the events of the previous night to the overseer, who didn’t once interrupt the slave and seemed very interested in the story. When Sefu was done, Calloway gathered up the bread dish and cup to bring back to the storehouse. As he walked out the door, Calloway turned around and looked at Sefu.

“Ah trust you, Sefu. Ah know you’ll do what’s raht. Ah’m not gunna be sittin’ outside yo’ do’ until da boss tells me what to do. Ah will come an’ check up on you every few hours, but Ah trust dat yuh won’ let me down. Ah’ll do ev’rythang in mah power to make sher noth’n happens to yuh.”  Calloway gave the slave a look of faith and then turned around and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

 

Over the next few days, Sefu was visited by many of his fellow slaves. Some of them brought the fugitive food, while others brought him tools, such as spades and spoons to dig his way through the dirt floor to escape; even though there was no lock on the door, many of the slaves thought that it would be an adventure for Sefu to try to dig his way out, rather than simply walking out the unlocked door. However, knowing that the Master had given himself up to the hunters in order to protect his slave, Sefu decided to stay put. He had already decided that if the Master had wanted to punish him or have him killed for trying to escape, he wouldn’t have had Calloway keep him in the shack, but killed on the spot instead.

Near dawn of the third day, while Sefu was sleeping, he heard a knock at the door. The knock woke him up and he mumbled a “cum’eeyin” as he sat up from the hay-filled burlap sack on the dirt floor and rubbed the sleepiness out of his eyes. The moon shining through the cracks of the wood planks that made up the walls allowed a little light into the shack, but because only a little light could enter, the shack was almost pitch black. The door opened a crack and a gaunt figure stepped in, closing the door behind him.

“Who dah?” Sefu asked hesitantly, standing up and pulling on his shirt.

“Hah, Sefu. I’z me, Lucifuh,” the old man said. Immediately, the fugitive rushed forward and wrapped his hands around the old slave’s throat. He heard a cackled emerge from Lucifer’s mouth, which was also gasping for air.

“Whut you laughin’ at you traituh?” Sefu asked, tightening his grip on the other’s throat. “Gimme one good reason whah Ah shouldn’t keel you heah and now. Da way Ah sees it, yuh are so old yuh ain’t got much time left anuhways.” The tightening of Sefu’s grip dropped the traitorous slave to his knees.

“Sefu…Ah has sumthin’…to tell ya,” Lucifer gasped. Sefu relaxed his grip on the old man’s throat. He took a few deep breaths and then continued, swallowing. “I heard tell dat da massuh dahd, Sefu. Because a’ yo’ selfishness, those slave huntuhs keeled da massuh. Da ole’ massuh blames you, Sefu, an’ he’s getting’ da Klan togethuh to come down heah tonight to capshuh you and then torchah and keel you because you wuh responsible fo’ keelin his son.” Hearing this shocked Sefu. He let go of the old man, who stepped back and rubbed his neck, where only seconds ago, Sefu’s fingers had been squeezing.

He had killed the Master. If he hadn’t been so selfish and let the Master take his place rather than accepting the punishment of the slave hunters, maybe the Master would still be alive. It was his fault that this had happened, and now he would reap the consequences of his actions. Where before he could have just been tortured, he would now lose his life because he had been the one responsible for the death of the Master, a white man, his owner.

“So whah are you heah, Lucifuh?” Sefu asked hesitantly.

“Ah had to help mah fellow slave,” the old man said as he reached under his shirt and pulled out the pistol that the hunter had taken away from Sefu in the woods. “Dar is one bullet left in dis’ere pisto’, Sefu. Ah figguh you’d be bettuh off if yuh jus’ keeled yo’self rathuh than bein’ torchuh’d by da Klan.” Lucifer took Sefu’s hand and put the gun into it, wrapping the young man’s fingers around it for him. Without saying another word, Lucifer stepped towards the door. A crack of moonlight from between the planks that made up the wall shone on the old slave’s face, revealing that it was cracked and bloody from when Sefu had hit him with the rock in the woods. The traitor winked at the young man with his damaged eye and walked out of the door, into the night.

Sefu looked down at his hand that was holding the gun. He turned it over in his hand and watched as the moonlight shined on the silver metal. He pulled open the round area that appeared to house the bullets and found that one bullet was left in the gun, just as the old man said. Sefu pondered whether to take his own life or not. Eventually he came to the decision that he had to take his just punishment, rather than taking the easy way out: he was responsible for killing his Master, a white man, and the only punishment for that was death. He would take the punishment of death and possibly torture from the Ku Klux Klan nobly, accepting punishment for the wrongs he had committed.

The door opened once again, startling Sefu. He quickly turned around, throwing the gun on the bed, and returned to facing the door. Believing that it was Lucifer returning, Sefu asked, “Whut do you want, ole’ man?”

However, the voice that spoke wasn’t that of the traitorous old slave. The words that Sefu heard were this: “I have returned to save you, Sefu. Leave your things and come with me if you wish. If not, you may stay here, but you should know that Lucifer has alerted the Klan about your conflict with the hunters and that they are on their way. Come with me to safety or stay here for death. The choice is yours.”

As the sun rose behind the figure, the light illuminated the man standing in the doorway. Sefu shook his head in disbelief. The Master was alive and he was offering life to the slave for whom he had sacrificed himself for.

 

VI.

“Massuh, wheah are we a’goin’?” Sefu asked as he and the Master ran away from the small shack.

“The only place that’s safe for us, Sefu, is my home. Once we get there, the Klan won’t hurt you, I promise. We need to hurry, though. I think I hear them coming!” The Master began to run faster with Sefu at his heels. The Master was correct, however; the slave hunters were definitely on their way. He could hear bloodhounds barking as they charged through the woods toward the plantation, the sound of the horses’ pounding hooves approaching from a distance. The fear that Sefu felt towards the approaching and feared Ku Klux Klan caused the slave’s heart to start beating in rhythm with the pounding of the approaching hooves.

He knew the general direction to the Big House, but he had never been there, nor had he seen the Old Master. The only ones that Sefu knew of that had ever been inside the Big House and seen the Old Master that had contact with the outside world were Lucifer and the Master.

     Sefu, like most of the slaves on the plantation, were unable to see the Big House because it was surrounded by large trees. Located at the most eastern edge of the plantation, the Big House was situated at the top of a hill. Lucifer spent many dinners telling the rest of the slaves about the Big House and all its shortcomings, about how the mansion was full of many rooms, of which only a few occupied, about how boring it was to be involved with the Big House, with nothing to do but be around the Old Master, a place where those who worked there were required to do what the Master and Old Master wanted, rather than being an individual and making one’s own choices. Sefu wasn’t sure that he wanted to go to the Big House, but if the Master still wanted him to go with him to the Big House and was going to save his life and protect him from the Klan, even after he had been beaten instead of his slave, Sefu decided to trust him and that the Master knew what was best.

     While the Master had no problem scaling the hill to the Big House, Sefu found that he couldn’t keep up with the white man. He began to slow down, regardless of the fact that he could hear the dogs and Klan get closer. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted the telltale white cloaks and burning crosses that represented the Klan: the bloodhounds had already reached the edge of the field and were starting up the hill, while the Klan members on horseback were right behind them. He felt his heart skip a beat when someone grabbed a hold of his arm, but when he looked ahead, he realized it was the Master, urging him to hurry as he pulled his slave to the top of the hill. Sefu quickly ducked down as a branch whizzed over his head; they had entered the small enclave of trees surrounding the Big House at the top of the hill.

     As they ran past the first trees in the forest, Sefu stopped, his jaw dropping open. Before him stood an enormous mansion, three or four stories tall with large windows and a huge wrap-around porch, tall Grecian-style white columns stretching from the roofline to the floor of the porch. The lawn was manicured perfectly and someone had pruned away an area of branches on the southern side of the house, giving the hill a nice view of the sparkling, crystalline ocean, resembling a sheet of glass, a few miles away. There was only one problem with the picture though: the beautiful metal and ornamental fence that surrounded the Big House and its large yard was separating Sefu and the Master from safety. Sefu looked around to find some way around the fence, but was at a loss of what to do.

     “Sefu, come on! They’re almost here!” the Master said, running over to an area of the fence about twenty feet away. The slave thought that the Master would be scaling the fence and had no idea how he would be able to do the same, when he noticed that a very narrow gate was present, allowing the duo to get past the fence. As the Master arrived at the gate, he took out a golden key and put it into a lock, which opened the gate to let the two into the yard. “I am the only one who can get you through this gate, Sefu,” the Master said, looking Sefu in the eyes as the slave walked toward him. “I am the only one with the key-this is my gate.” Sefu wasn’t quite sure what to think about these statements, but he walked through the narrow gate and into the yard.

     As the Master closed the gate behind him, something sparkled, catching Sefu’s attention out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t noticed it before, but each metal fence post was topped with a spire made of a glossy, grayish-white stone. The Master noticed his slave admiring the spires.

     “Pearl, if you’re wondering what it is on top of the posts. My father only believes in having the best available for his family,” he explained. He smiled at Sefu. Suddenly, something shattered one of the pearl spires on a nearby fencepost. Sefu looked through the fence to see the dogs and Klan breach the top of the hill. The dogs jumped up against the fence, barking wildly, while the Klan, covered in white sheets, similar to their horses, to conceal their identities, began to shoot at the slave and his Master in the yard. “Get behind a tree!” the Master told Sefu as he ducked behind another a few feet away. The black man did as he was commanded and looked over at his Master, who looked back at him with a look of peace on his face. Sefu had no idea how the Master could look so peaceful while the Klan was literally at his front gate, shooting at them and threatening the life that he had just regained.

     The slave was terrified to look and see how many Klan members were there to lynch him, instead listening to the explosions of the bullets leaving the rifle barrels and the sounds of the metal shards thudding into the trunk of the tree he was hiding behind. Taunts such as “Wheah ah you, nigguh?” and “Cummout en play, boy!” followed by laughs were hurled in his direction. Sefu looked over to where the Master was hiding and watched chunks of bark exploding off the tree as the bullets slammed into it. Somewhere, a window shattered as a wayward bullet hit the house. This was followed by a slam, which Sefu thought was a gun backfiring. However, a deep voice closely accompanied the slam.

     “Enough!” the voice bellowed. The irregular rhythm of gunfire stopped. The Master nodded at Sefu and began walking toward the Big House, in plain sight of the Klan members. The black man peeked around the tree to see the Klan facing the house, their guns lowered, staring at the porch of the mansion. Following their gaze, Sefu found himself looking at an older man, tall and powerful looking.

     “Who is you to tell us what to do, ole’ man?” one of the Klan members asked sarcastically.

     “I am the Chief Justice of the Mississippi Supreme Court, young man, and if y’all want to find yo’selves in prison, o’ worse, I suggest you vacate yo’selves from mah property, immediately,” the Old Master said in a deep voice, which crescendoed from soft to becoming intimidating in a matter of a few phrases.

     “Oh, yer honor, we’re terribly sorry,” another one of the Klansmen said with his hands face up. “It won’t happen again, sir, Ah promise.”

     “You’d better be right, Sheriff McCullough, ‘cuz if you aren’t, Ah’ll make sure you aren’t reelected and your family vacated from town,” the Old Master threatened. A murmur of apologies came from the rest of the Klansmen as they called their dogs back and rode their horses slowly down the hill and off the plantation.

     Sefu turned around and looked at the Old Master. Chief Justice of the Mississippi Supreme Court? The slave wasn’t quite sure what a Chief Justice was, nor did he know how a Supreme Court was any different from a regular court, but he figured that the Old Master must be powerful if even the Ku Klux Klan obeyed him. He remembered hearing about a case from another plantation where one of the slaves was accused of raping his master’s teenage daughter and the slaves telling the story had referred to the judge presiding over the court case as “your honor,” so he figured that the Old Master was some sort of judge. Did that mean that the Master was fooling Sefu and that he was bringing the slave to the Big House, where the Old Master, a judge, would have him tried and executed for letting his master take the fall for his escape?

     “Welcome, Sefu,” the Old Master said, embracing the slave in a tight hug. “Ah’ve been lookin’ forward to your comin’ for a long time now.”

     “Me, suh?” Sefu asked, stunned.

     “Yes, you, Sefu. Ah’d like to welcome you to yo’ new home.” And with that, the Old Master pushed open the front door of the mansion, opening a new chapter in the slave’s life.

 

Unshackled, part 3

It’s that time again…time for me to post part three of my story, “Unshackled”!  For all of you who have been following the journey of our slave friend, Sefu, welcome back. This section of the story, like the last, is filled with all sorts of twists and turns to surprise you. And for all of you who are joining us for the first time, welcome! You’ll find sections one and two of the story by scrolling down to previous posts. Don’t read ahead, though..you wouldn’t want to ruin the story for yourself!

I hope you enjoy part three of “Unshackled.”

IV.

Sefu wasn’t afraid to die. He realized that anything would be better than being stuck on the plantation, working in the hot sun and ruining his hands by the sharp cotton bolls, all day everyday. If death was the escape from being a slave for years to come, he welcomed that escape with open arms.

“Stop. Don’t shoot him,” a voice said a few feet away. The voice was both kind and urgent at the same time. Sefu couldn’t move; the hunter’s foot was still holding him down. He breathed a sigh of relief, however, when he heard the firing pin on the hunter’s shotgun release from its firing position. “Let him up,” the voice commanded. Without questioning, the hunter lifted his foot off Sefu’s back. Sefu started to pick himself up, when he felt warm hands grip him by the arm and help him stand up. He looked to see who it was that had saved his life and was met by the gaze of his Master.

“Oh, hello, Massuh…I, um..” Sefu stopped talking when the man took out a rag and began to wipe the blood off his slave’s face. He took a canteen off the saddle of the horse he had quietly rode in on and offered it to the fugitive to rinse out his mouth with. He also brushed the dust from the dirt road off the slave’s clothes.

“It’s alright, Sefu,” the Master said, a smile playing his lips. Sefu was very surprised. The Master was from a very wealthy family, so he owned a few hundred slaves. Sefu was very surprised that the Master knew his name, when he had never actually met the Master before in all his years on the plantation.

Lucifer broke the hypnotized silence of the slave holders and yelled, “He keeled yo’ dawg and haws!” The words of the old slave seemed to revive the angry spirit of the fugitive slave hunters, who called out to the Master.

“Hold up dar, suh!” the hunter whose haws had been shot by Sefu. “Da nigga is right. Yo’ boy keeled mah haws and his dawg. An’ unless Ah’m wrong, Mis’sippi law states dat if one man’s property is killed o’ destroyed, then he who perpuhtrates has to repay da fuhst man bah losin’ somma his property. An’ I do b’lieve dat dat dar nigga’ve yaws is considered property in dis’ere state o’ Mis’sippi.” The other two slave hunters agreed with this and chuckled menacingly. “Would’ja like da honor, Bill?” The slave hunter speaking offered his shotgun to the man whose dog Sefu had shot. The man pushed the gun away and stepped forward, rolling up his sleeves.

“Sho’ I wants de honor, but I wants to teach dis’ere boy who’s boss. Ah’m gunna beat him to neah death and den…I’ll keel him!” At this, the man laughed in a crazy manner. Sefu stepped back. He knew that either way he was going to die, whether he fought back or not. Lucifer had sold him out in the first place, so there was no way he was going to defend the fugitive slave. And the Master? Well, the Master was the one whose plantation he had tried to escape from in the first place! He would probably just sit by and watch the slave hunter beat him to a pulp. Who knows, the Master might even get in a few punches of his own!

“Spare the slave. Take me instead,” the Master said, walking over and tying his horse to a tree. The Master glanced at Lucifer, a sad look on his face as if to say, ‘Why would you do this?’ Coming to a stop a few feet in front of the slave hunter, the Master stood bravely, awaiting the beating that took place that which his slave deserved. He looked over his shoulder at Sefu, a genuine smile on his face.

Before Sefu could smile back, the slave hunter had pulled his arm back and hit the Master as hard as he could on the side of the head with a rock. A grunt escaped the Master’s lips and he collapsed to the ground. He rolled onto his stomach and slowly pushed himself into a crouching position, trying to get up. The hunter dropped the rock on the ground and kicked the Master in the stomach, causing him to double up on the ground. While he was on the ground, the slave hunter kicked him in the ribs a few times, then motioned to the guy whose horse was killed. The horse-owning slave hunter kicked dirt into the Master’s face and stepped on his hand, crushing it beneath his weight. He followed this by kicking the Master in the head. The hunter who owned the dog started beating the Master again along with the injured hunter.

“Holdon a second, y’all,” the third hunter said. The other two stopped beating the master who was laying on the dirt road, now stained with blood, moaning in pain. “It’s okay fo’ us to keel a nigga, but if we keel a white man, we’d be murderers and could go to prison. Maybe we’ve beat him long enough; it’ll teach him not to let one of his niggas from escapin’ and shootin’ someone else’s property.”

“No one is gunna evuh find da man aftuh we keel him. Da coyotes’ll git him befo’ da night is done,” the injured hunter said with a laugh.

“What about da boy?” the third hunter asked.

“You really think we’s gunna spare da nigga?” the dog-owning hunter asked cynically. “Aftuh we’s done killin’ dis po’ moron, we’s gunna keel his nigga, too!” With that, he grabbed the Master under the arms and held him up while the injured hunter punched and kicked him in the stomach.

Sefu realized that he had to do something. The Master had spared his life by offering his own to the slave hunters and now the hunters were planning on killing them both! He noticed that the hunter with the shotgun wasn’t paying attention to him but instead was focused on the other two beating the Master. He also noticed Lucifer watching the fight, a disgusting look of enjoyment playing across his features.

Looking around for a way to escape, Sefu noticed that the rock with which the hunter had first hit the Master had rolled near him when the hunter had dropped it. He slowly stooped down and picked up the rock and looked at Lucifer. He hated the thought of hurting one of his own, but the old slave had betrayed him, almost caused his death and was now participating in the death of their Master, albeit indirectly. He stepped behind the old man, put his hand over the slave’s mouth to stifle out any noise, and slammed the rock into the side of the traitor’s head. As he had hoped, the old man crumpled silently to the ground unbeknownst to his cohorts.

Now that Lucifer was out of the way, he stepped quietly over to pick up the shotgun lying next to the dead horse. Sefu had never used a gun before, let alone held one. He didn’t know what to do in order to make it go off, but he was sure that the trigger was involved somehow, and he had heard something click just before the hunter’s gun was pressed to the back of his skull. Quickly, Sefu scanned the gun and found something that might make that clicking sound. He put his hand around the gun to mask the sound and slowly pulled back the angular piece of metal until it clicked in his hand. He considered to himself whether or not to shoot the hunter with the shotgun. He realized that he would prefer to make it out of the situation alive, so he pointed the gun up and pulled the trigger.

Similar to the result of the pistol he had shot at the horse and dog earlier, Sefu felt his arm jerked back by the pressure of the shotgun going off. However, rather than the sound of the explosion echoing through the forest, chaos ensued. The hunter with the shotgun jumped in surprise and the fighting hunters stopped beating the Master, who at this point was unresponsive and unrecognizable as a human being, and the two horses whinnied and bolted away down the dirt road towards Jacksonville, while the Master’s tied-up horse bucked against the rope tying it to the tree. The bloodhounds began to bark and began to chase the horses into Jacksonville. The slave hunter who owned the dogs and the one that was supposed to be watching Sefu sprinted away after their horses, while the injured hunter whose horse Sefu had shot limped over to the slave. He swiped the shotgun out of the fugitive slave’s hands and stepped back, cocking the gun and taking aim.

“This time, boy, you ain’t got no one to save yer hide,” the slave hunter said. Suddenly, a pair of hoofed legs came crashing down on top of the hunter, knocking him to the ground. Upon hitting the ground, the gun went off and the horse crushed the hunter’s uninjured leg, as well as knocking him out, which was to Sefu’s advantage; now the hunter wouldn’t chase him as he made his escape.

The slave quickly grabbed the rein attached to the Master’s horse and held him in place. He grabbed the shotgun the hunter had dropped and attached it to the saddle in case he would need it and then hopped on the horse. Then Sefu saw the Master, laying in a puddle of his own blood, disfigured and not moving. He realized that the Master had given his body, if not his life, up so that Sefu would be spared. Then again, this was the man who had ruled over him, who had made many rules to run the life of Sefu and his fellow slaves, who wouldn’t let hundreds of human beings live in the way that they chose and do the things that they wanted to do. If he rode back to the plantation alone, he could rally up the slaves to riot and escape with no leader for the slave drivers to follow, being a hero as the slave that helped so many become free, the Toussaint L’Ouverture of Mississippi.

However, following his belief that all men, no matter who they are or the color of their skin, deserve to be treated equally and with love, Sefu decided to bring the Master to a place where he could be taken care of. The man had, after all, followed the slave to make sure that he would remain safe and then risk his life for the Negro. The slave hopped off the horse and quickly jogged over to where the badly beaten Master was laying on the ground. He stooped down, put his ear to the man’s chest, and heard the faint rhythm of a heartbeat. Gingerly, he picked the Master up and put him on the horse and made the slow journey back toward the plantation that he had escaped from.

 

Unshackled, Part 2

Hey, guys!

I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to write! I kinda decided that for now I would only post on Pick My Brain when I had a section of my new short story, “Unshackled” to post.

I would like to ask you, that if you would like to read my story and haven’t begun following our friend, Sefu, the African slave from Mississippi, to go back to the first chapter, posted on November 19, 2008 to follow the story from the beginning. If you don’t, you might not understand what is going on at this point in the story! Also, if it has been awhile since you read chapter one of “Unshackled,” you might want to go back and re-read it to refresh your memory!

Chapters two and three of the story are posted below. However, I must warn you: these chapters contain some vulgarity, violence, and language that, unacceptable to today’s standards, were a part of everyday life in the antebellum slave-owning south. Please do not think of me as a racist. Rather, understand that I am trying to make this story as realistic as possible, even if it means that I may have to use a racial slur once or twice.

At any rate, please enjoy “Unshackled,” chapters two and three! Leave me a comment with your feedback!

 

Andrew

 

 

 

II.

Later that evening, the slaves from the Master’s plantation gathered to eat, something that they did every night. The slave shacks were located at the center of the cotton fields, arranged in a circular pattern. These shacks were poorly constructed of wooden planks, leaking during a rainstorm and a draft through when it was windy on a regular basis. Each night, the slaves would gather around a long wooden table in the center of the cabins to eat some of the daily allotment of cornmeal and pork that Calloway brought in. The slaves also received scraps from the Master’s table from Peter, the head domestic slave at the Big House. The food was then cooked around a large bonfire near the table within the ring of shacks.

After the slaves had sat down and begun eating that night, Sefu looked around and noticed that Sokkwi was not sitting with the rest of the slaves. He elbowed the slave next to him and asked him where Sokkwi was, but the woman suddenly became very scared and turned away from him. He looked over at Lucifer, whom had come down from the Big House as well for the meal, and was given a toothless grin and a wink. He then mouthed out the words, “Nevuh seen again,” which sent the usual shiver down Sefu’s spine that he received whenever he was around Lucifer.

He knew that something had happened to Sokkwi, but he wasn’t sure what. However, he was almost positive it wasn’t a good thing. He had seen the Master return earlier with Sokkwi walking alongside him, but shortly after Sokkwi’s return, he had disappeared and no one had seen him or heard from him since, just as Lucifer had predicted. He had heard of something called “lynching” and wondered if this is what had happened to Sokkwi. According to Lucifer, a lynching was a group of whites who captured a slave or someone from the motherland who had stepped out of line and tortured or even killed him in a grotesque manner. Lucifer had told Sefu and the rest of the slaves this and it really instilled a lot of fear of the slaves not to step out of line.

Lucifer also explained to the slaves about men who hunted down fugitive slaves. As a part of the Compromise of 1850, which balanced the number of slave and free states after the acquisition of land after the Mexican American War, a Fugitive Slave Statute was enacted. This Fugitive Slave Statute stated that any slave that escaped from his or her master would be sought out, and if found, returned to the territory or state of which they had escaped. Lucifer told stories of slaves who had tried escaping and were found by vigilante slave hunters and then returned to their masters, who then enacted violence against their disobedient and deserting slaves. Sometimes the free blacks of the north would be captured and brought down to the south and enslaved to gather a bounty, even though they were free. And if they were extremely unlucky, a slave hunter might even decide to kill the fugitive slave rather than merely bring him back to his master in the south. The vigilante would never be convicted—of murder anyway…he might end up getting a conviction due to destruction of private property, but even then he would get away almost scotch clean, simply because the slave was not considered human, but rather, property, an animal.

Sefu had thought the option of running away from the plantation since Sokkwi disappeared and realized that he needed to escape for his friend’s sake. He could no longer stay on the plantation, doomed to serve the rest of his life as someone’s property. He couldn’t live under the tyranny of all the rules the Master had set in place anymore; he wanted to be his own man, his own person, to make his own decisions. He knew that he could have a better life on his own, doing things his own way. He could succeed in this society if he could make his own rules and live his own life, rather than having someone more “powerful” telling him what to do all the time.

Sefu glanced over and was surprised to find Lucifer staring at him, a glint in his eye and his usual bone-chilling grin on his face. Sefu nodded at the old man and mouthed out the word, “Tonight.” The old slave winked back and mouthed the word back to Sefu: “Tonight.”

 

III.

The sun had been set for hours now and the sound of the frogs and crickets had quieted around the plantation. The bonfire from dinner, around which the slaves sang their traditional spiritual songs and performed their religious tribal dances for their native gods and commemorating their tribe of Mbundu, had finally started to dim, the coals turning a dull red and casting a reddish-brown glow around the slave encampment.

Sefu sat on the wooden table in the middle of the encircling slave shacks waiting for Lucifer. The old man was waiting for the Master, the Old Master and their family to go to bed so it was safe for Sefu to make his escape. He found his sight drawn to the flickering embers in the fire pit, feeling hypnotized by the smoke curling from the hot ashes.

He didn’t even notice that Lucifer was watching him until he heard a twig snap to his left. He quickly looked over to find the wrinkled domestic half obscured by the shadow of the slave shack intermittently illuminated by the occasionally brief flicker of flame from the bonfire’s embers.

Sefu stood up and quietly walked over to the old man. “Is you ready?” Lucifer whispered. The fugitive simply nodded in response. Lucifer put his arm over Sefu’s shoulder and began to advise him to stay on the dirt path, to run fast and to head west to Jacksonville where he could find help getting north via the Underground Railroad. As they arrived to the dirt path that led into the forest, Lucifer gave Sefu a pistol.

“Now, Sefu,” the old man began. “Dis’ere pisto’ is da pisto’ of da Massuh hisself. Der should be enough bullets in dis’ere pisto’ in case you needs to fight off any threat you might find along da way. But if you fire a bullet, you’s bettuh run lahk hell, ‘cuz you knows dat any slave huntuhs in de area will be on their way to you. Good luck, boy.” And with that, the old man placed the cold pistol in Sefu’s hand and hobbled back towards the slave quarters.

 

Sefu realized how psychological an escape for a slave truly is as he ran down the dirt path towards Jacksonville. Every single sound, be it a rustling leaf or a cracking twig or the hoot of an owl sounded to him like the crack of a shotgun, the pounding feet of slave hunters or the howl of bloodhounds. After running for two hours straight, he decided that he needed to take a break. A small brook ran alongside the road, so the fugitive stooped down and took some water. He pictured in his mind the distance he would have to travel and decided that he could easily be to Jacksonville the day after tomorrow if he continued at the pace he was travelling.

As he got off his knees and wiped the cold dribble of brook water from his mouth, he thought he heard something. He realized that there was probably nothing to worry about, that it was most likely just a deer or something in the woods. But wait, was that a growl? Maybe it’s a wild dog or something, he thought to himself. Sefu sighed deeply and began to run down the path again toward Jacksonville. Suddenly, he heard an outburst of barking from behind him. He quickly turned around to see a lone dog running towards him, fangs bared. Figuring that it was just a wild dog, he realized he could never outrun the animal. He took out the pistol that Lucifer gave to him, leveled it at the sprinting animal, and pulled the trigger.

Sefu stepped back as the gun felt like it tried to jump out of his hand. The dog stumbled as it ran, then tipped over and eventually skidded to a halt, carried by its own momentum. The sound of the gun’s blast echoed in the forest and seemed to hang in the air as though the darkness trapped it from escaping. As the gun’s report died away, the fugitive recognized another sound that hadn’t been there prior to his shooting the dog. The sound started dim and whispery at first, but slowly began to escalate until the distinct sound of a pack of dogs heading towards him became discernable.

Sefu’s blood ran cold. He took off into a sprint west, away from the sound of the angry dogs, which were now joined by sound of hooves and whistling as the hunters followed the bloodhounds’ trail. As fast as Sefu was running, the sounds were getting closer. A cramp began to form in the slave’s calf and he realized that he was starting to get tired. He thought to himself that maybe he should give up, that maybe the hunters wouldn’t turn him back over to the Master. He hoped that they would spare him the future suffering he would serve on the plantation and just kill him then and there.

Sefu found that he couldn’t move. He seemed to be frozen in place on the dirt path as fear coursed through his veins. The echoing yelp of the dogs drew nearer and the pounding of the horses’ hooves seemed to regulate the beating of Sefu’s heart. Just as the dogs came around the bend in the road, an arm grabbed Sefu’s and pulled him behind a brush on the side of the road. Sefu looked at the face of his rescuer to find Lucifer breathing hard beside him. The old man looked to the fugitive and put a long bony finger over his lips.

The barking began to echo throughout the area as the hooves of the horses began to slow. Sefu looked through the brush and saw the bloodhounds sniffing the air in the area that the two slaves were hiding. Sefu jumped when he saw three horses trot into view upon which were seated three men with shotguns. The horses stopped as the three men watched the bloodhounds sniff the area. One of the men dropped off his horse and looked around, his shotgun hanging loosely at his side. Lucifer began to sniff at the air. Sefu looked over at him curiously, when he realized in horror that the old man was going to sneeze due to the dust settling from the horses’ gallop. Before he could cover the older slave’s mouth, Lucifer uttered a stifled sneeze, in an attempt to obscure their position. The unmounted slave hunter, however, heard the sound and shot a glance at the brush.

“Whoevuh yous is, y’all bettuh come awt na-yuh en nawbuddy’ll get huht,” he said, slowly, as he raised his shotgun at the bush. Lucifer looked at Sefu and nodded sullenly. The old slave slowly stood up, followed by the fugitive.

“Whah, lookee dar,” one of the men on horseback said with a chuckle. “Looks lahk we gots ourselves a couple’uh fugitive niggas on our hands. We’s gunna get a big payoff on dis’un.”

The unmounted slave hunter motioned with the shotgun as one of the other slave hunters hopped off his horse and pulled a couple of shackled out of the saddlebag attached to his horse. “Y’all common ovuh heah now,” he said slowly, never taking his eyes of the escaped slaves. Sefu looked over at Lucifer, who nodded and gave him a little wink.

Emerging from the woods on opposite sides of the brush, the two slaves walked slowly. Sefu had no fear now, although he was trying to come up with a plan to escape from the situation. He remembered the pistol that the old man had stolen from the Master and wondered if he could find a way to use it without giving a warning to the white men carrying shotguns. Suddenly, as Lucifer was walking towards the man with the shackles, he tripped and fell into the sand. All three shotguns went toward the fallen slave. Sefu took advantage of their diverted attention, whipped out the pistol and shot it toward the still-mounted hunter. However, in an effort to make the movement fast, Sefu missed the white man and hit the horse in the head.

The horse fell sideways immediately, carrying the slave hunter down with him, landing on the man’s leg. The man cried out in pain. “Awh, mah leg! Gett’im offuh me! Damn nigga! Ah’m gunna keel you! Yaw shot mah haws!” The man with the shackles quickly ran over to his fallen friend and lifted the dead horse just enough to allow the man to scramble out from under it. The third hunter never took his gun off the fugitive. The dogs were barking wildly.

“You in fo’ it now, boy,” he mumbled to Sefu as he took the pistol away from the slave. The fallen hunter scrambled to his feet, leaning on his friend for support. Sefu noticed that his foot looked crushed. Rather than address the fugitive, however, the injured hunter looked to the old man.

“Ah you okay, Lucifuh?” the white man asked.

“Yessuh, Mistuh Wallace. Haw about you? Is you okay?” Lucifer asked, pretending to care about the injured white man. Sefu looked over at the old man in horror. Lucifer had betrayed him by telling him to take this way, only to turn him in to the slave hunters!

“Yuh, Ah’ll be fahn, but yer friend heah ain’t gunna be okay in a seggund,” the man the slave referred to as Wallace said angrily. “Ya killed mah haws!” The man reached for his friend’s shotgun, but the other man wouldn’t give it to him.

“If yuh kill’im now there won’t be no reward for ketchin’im, and if theah’s no reward, then we have nothing to pay Lucifuh. And if we have nothing to pay Lucifuh, you ken say goo’bye to hee-yim evuh helpin’ us again,” the man holding the injured hunter up said. This seemed to settle Wallace down some. The man seemed to look off in the distance as if perceiving a sound coming down the road. “Ah’ll be raht back,” he said, leaving Wallace to stand on his own. A loud cry echoed back to the hunters, the traitor and the prisoner. The man sprinted back to the group, and hit Sefu on the side of the head with the butt of his shotgun.

“Yuh sunnuvabitch!” the white man yelled as he swung at the slave again, tears streaming down his face. “Yuh keeled mah dawg! Yuh keeled her!” He drove the butt of his shotgun into the back of Sefu’s head. The slave collapsed onto the dirt road, his mouth filling with a mix of blood and gravel. The rest of the hunters did nothing-they realized how much their friend’s dogs meant to him, and nothing short of killing the slave would quench his thirst for revenge. The hunter put his foot on Sefu’s back to hold the slave down and pointed the shotgun at the back of the slave’s head. Sefu closed his eyes as he heard the shotgun being slowly cocked and braced himself from the explosion that would end his life.

 

Check out my story!

So those of you who enjoy writing or write on a regular basis understand when you have an “aha!” moment. You could be doing anything: driving down the road, washing yourself in the shower, sitting bored in class, when all of a sudden, you have a revelation of an amazing story idea to write! Mine actually came to me on Saturday night as I was drifting off to sleep. I like to think of it as more a vision than a revelation. It wasn’t a dream, because I was completely conscious, but it just kind of flooded my mind like a movie, like a vision. Anyway, since I was tired, I went to sleep and then, the next day during coffee hour at Andrea’s church, quickly wrote out my story ideas on a napkin to help me remember them.

The story is called “Unshackled” and at this point in time is a short story. It is about an African slave in the American south named Sefu who works on a cotton plantation. I’ve decided to post the story  on this blog so that if you are interested (and I truly hope that you are), you will/can/should/could read it as I post the chapters. I’m going to post chapters as I write them, so there may be times where I don’t update my story for a week at a time. I really hope you enjoy it, though…and give me feedback! I’d love to hear what you have to say about my story, either good or bad feedback!

Thanks, y’all!

Andrew

 

“Unshackled”

I.

     Sefu set his basket on the ground and stood up to wipe away the sweat on his brow. He squinted up at the sun, scanning the horizon for any hint of clouds or rain to give him reprieve of the hot southern sun. It was only nine o’clock in the morning, but Sefu and the rest of the team had been out in the fields for almost five hours. He reached around and pulled his shirt off his sweat-slicked back, the wool sticking to the healing scars etched into his back from the crack of the whip.

     Sefu looked over his shoulder and saw the overseers pacing up and down the rows of cotton, looking in the baskets of his fellow slaves, a few on horseback carrying shotguns. He thought about making a run for it into the woods, but he would never make it in time to escape-the tree line was one hundred yards away and an overseer on horseback would surely catch up to him. Besides, his back still ached from when he’d been punished earlier that week from stealing cotton out of Sokkwi’s basket to make it look like he had been slacking, while Sefu, the real slacker in the work team, had been working harder, rather than vice versa.

     Sefu quickly turned around as he heard the sound of a gun being cocked to see Mister Calloway, one of the overseers on a horse, with a pistol pointed in his direction.

“Don’t even think about it, boy,” Calloway said. He spat a glob of tobacco-filled saliva with perfect accuracy, the spittle landing just inches from Sefu’s feet. “Y’all better get back to work now.” Mister Calloway motioned with his pistol towards the basket half filled with cotton.

“Yessuh, Mistuh Calluhway,” Sefu said, quickly stooping down to pick up his basket and continued to pick his cotton with renewed vigor. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Calloway was still there, watching Sefu pick cotton with interest, making sure that the African slave didn’t try to escape the Mississippian cotton plantation.

Sefu realized how lucky he was that it was Calloway that had caught him; Calloway was one of the tamer overseers. If any other of the overseers had caught him in an escape attempt, he would have been shot and injured, or more likely, killed. He shook this thought away as he continued to pick cotton out of the boll and drop it into his basket as Calloway kicked his horse into a trot and moved across the field.

“Psst, Sefu!” an old voice whispered from behind him. Sefu turned around and saw old Lucifer, the groundskeeper for the plantation. Lucifer was the oldest slave on the plantation; he had been bought by the Master’s father before he had passed the plantation on to his son many years ago. “I saw yer lookin’ over to them thar trees,” the old man said. “You thinkin’ about ‘scapin’?”

“Naw, I’d bettuh not,” Sefu replied, not taking his eyes off the bolls as he picked the cotton. He didn’t want Mr. Calloway to return; the overseer might not be as merciful the next time around.

“Oh, common Sefu,” Lucifer said insistently. “You’s got yer whole lahf ahead of you yit. Lookit me: Ah’ve been on dis’ere plantashun most’a mah whole dern lahf. You don’ wanna end up lahk me, now do yuh?” Sefu stood up and looked the old man in the eye. Lucifer simply smiled back, his toothless grin sending a shiver up Sefu’s spine. Sefu saw the Master coming down the dirt path toward the field, scanning the landscape to look at his various servants.

“Lissen, Lucifuh, the Massuh is a’comin’ down da lane. Ah rilly gots to git back to work now. Ah’ll talk to y’all latuh,” Sefu explained as he picked up his basket and moved onto the next row to pick more cotton. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the old man was following him, watching him insistently.

As Sefu was about to say something to Lucifer, he heard a sharp whistle and the crack of a gun. He looked up quick and saw Sokkwi sprinting towards the tree line. The overseers were about to chase the slave into the forest, when they stopped at the Master’s command. Instead, the Master hopped on the horse of the nearest overseer and trotted into the woods where Sokkwi had disappeared. The echoing yell of “Back to work!” followed by another shotgun blast quickly brought the rest of the slaves back to reality and they instantly bent back down as one and continued to pick cotton from the bolls.

“Poor dern fool,” Lucifer said in mock sadness.

“What do you mean?” Sefu asked.

“What, yuh haven’t heard?” Lucifer asked. “Whenevuh a slave escapes, duh Massuh always goes aftuh him. Da damn fools’re nevuh seen nor heard from agin aftuh dat. De reason dat he wears dat long drapin’ jacket ovuh top uf his shirt all de time is ‘cuz suppos’ly he’s got de ears of all de slaves dat’ve tried to ‘scape from dis plantashun. Dey  say dat he chases dem into de woods, kills dem, and cuts off their ears for a souvenir, keeping dem on a rope under his jacket. Dat’s why you gots to wait until dark to run away, Sefu. Ah’ll help y’all to make yer escape,” Lucifer said, giving the young man his toothless grin again. “Y’all bettuh hope yuh don’t get caught though…yuh don’t wanna end up like duh rest of’um…” Lucifer gave a cackling laugh and walked back down the lane towards the Big House.

 

 

Blaming the rotation of the Earth in reference to the Sun…

I hate winter.

 

An Out-of-Self, Cathedral Experience

Today in my American Literature II class, we discussed the short story, “Cathedral,” by author Raymond Carver. A fantastic short story, the plot revolves around an unnamed author who is very egotistical and unsympathetic towards other people. He learns over the years of being married to his wife that she has a friend whom she had previously worked for whom was blind. His wife and the blind man, who’s name is Robert, became so close that they continued to communicate back and forth over the years via audio tape and poetry to one another, exposing to each other the biggest events of their lives.

When Robert’s wife dies, the narrator’s wife invites him to come and stay with them for awhile so that he is not alone trying to process her death. Immediately, the narrator begins to make generalizations about what mold he expects Robert to fill. For instance, the narrator assumes that Robert doesn’t smoke because blind people can’t see the patterns of smoke as they leave the tip of the cigarette. He assumes that Robert doesn’t have a television because he can’t sit and watch it. The narrator also assumes that Robert’s wife’s last dying thoughts were that she felt horrible because Robert had never known what she had looked like (and upon learning that his wife’s name was Beulah, he immediately assumes that she is “a Negro”).

Upon his arrival, though, the narrator learns that everything he thought about Robert was incorrect. The first impression he gets of Robert is noticing that the blind man has a long beard. We see the narrator’s thoughts as he says “Who’s ever seen a blind man with a beard? Hah.” We learn that Robert not only smokes, but he drinks heavily, as well. Not only does Robert enjoy the television, but he owns two himself, which he is quick to add that one is colored and one is black-and-white. We find the narrator very jealous when he feels left out of the conversations going on between his wife and Robert that evening after dinner, looking to grasp any words that his wife may say about him, but to his distaste, this doesn’t happen. When his wife falls asleep later on when the three are watching television, Robert and the narrator exchange a few words, mostly centered around the narrator.

And then a documentary about cathedrals (large grand churches) comes on television. Robert knows absolutely nothing about cathedrals, mainly because they are something that can be appreciated best with the eyes, and because he is not a religious person. The narrator tries to explain in detail what a cathedral  looks like, but he finds that it is next to impossible to do the piece of architecture justice through words. Suddenly, Robert has an idea:

“Why don’t you draw a picture of the cathedral and I’ll hold your hand as you draw it to get an idea of what it looks like?” The narrator agrees, and Robert holds his hand as he traces out a picture of a cathedral. The narrator adds a grand ceiling, spires, gargoyles, a steeple, and majestic doors. As he begins to fill the cathedral with people, Robert suggests that the narrator close his eyes while he draws. After he is done drawing, Robert tells him to open his eyes and look at his creation on the paper bag upon which he had been drawing. However, the narrator chooses to keep his eyes closed, and similar to what Robert had also been doing to get a feel of what the picture looked like, trace the lines the pencil had made on the bag with his finger. It was then that he realized that the world wasn’t centered around him-that things weren’t just how he saw it or what he thought about them, but that there were other people who were affected by the world differently and that not everyone was the same way that he was.

So why am I discussing something that was discussed in my college American Literature II class on a blog that a bunch of people will probably read? Simple. It’s because I feel like there is more that we can get out of this story than purely aesthetic enjoyment.

When was the last time that you (myself included) did something for someone else or focused on a person other than yourself? When was the last time that you helped someone out that needed it rather than stay comfortable in your home or car or circle of friends? When was the last time that you literally stopped and thought to yourself: ‘Yes, this person is different. They may smoke or be homeless or confined to a wheelchair or have a lip ring or say things that I would never in a million years say, but they are still God’s child!!! ’ I want to challenge you right here, right now that for the rest of the week and through the weekend, to leave your comfort zone, to step outside of your circle of friends and to do something for someone else, to stop what you’re doing and when you see someone who may be different than you, to think to yourself, ‘Yes, they may be different, but they are still God’s child!!!” You’ll be amazed at what it will do to your mindset.

 

Blogging and Tobacco.

I’ve forgotten what it is like to write in a blog. I think that the last time that I blogged was when I was a freshman in high school (which was like six years ago. I know, I know…I’m old. Leave it alone haha). Anyway, I realize that sometimes it is good to get things out of my head and onto paper (or in this case…what would you call them, giga-bytes?) to help you process things more.

I don’t really know how often I’ll be updating this blog, but seeing as I have so much constantly rattling around in my head, I figure that I’ll probably update it a few times a week. If I need to get something out in the open, this would be the place to do it. If I found or read something that was particularly interesting to me during my daily devotions or if something happened in the news or on campus or something that I want to process, this will be the place for me to vent it.

Speaking of my daily devotions and something that struck me, I had something that I found interesting today and that stuck out to me for some reason, though I’m not exactly sure why. Andrea (my *amazing* fiancee) gave me a day-by-day devotional called Grace for the Moment or something like that. It’s basically a scripture verse followed by a little anecdote or story that can help apply that verse to your everyday life. It has one for the morning and one for the evening of each day for the year. I really like it.

Anyway, today the author (who’s name presently escapes me) wrote about how when we hide our sins from God, things don’t turn out so well for us. He used the story of when he was in high school on the baseball team and the coach was very against the team using chewing tobacco. However, after much pressure from his team mates, he took a chew and stuck it in his lip. Suddenly, when one of his buddies told him the coach was on the way over, he did all he could think of and swallowed it, ending the story with the fact that by hiding his disobedience, it made him physically ill and lasted with him until he was able to purge the tobacco from his body.

For some reason, after reading this story, I found that it stuck out to me more than my devos usually do. I thought about it for awhile and couldn’t think about what it is that I could be trying to hide from God, what skeletons I may be locking in the closets of my soul. I prayed about it and still wasn’t able to think of what it is that I may be trying to hide from my omniscient Creator, but then it hit me. Maybe it’s not about what I’m hiding from him now, but a warning to confess and talk to Him about what is going on my life, rather than try to hide it from him in the future. Otherwise, if I do try to hide it, it could make my soul sick. Until, at least, I purge it from me like the boy in the story had to eventually do with the tobacco