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curse of woman (about 1000 words)
i wrote this as an English story...i like it but i think it needs some work, it has already been submitted so im not trying to scab marks
This day of my life will be like the one before it, and more than likely the same as the one tomorrow. It is the same as the as the previous week, and a sad premonition of what the rest of my life will be like, as a black man. By saying black man I mean slave. For they are the same world in this oppressive world of ours. I remember thinking that this was what my entire life would be like. And that day was the day something changed.
The change came in the form of a woman, like none I had ever seen before. She was like me, property to be had. Sold like dogs or sheep to any white man who needed us, I say needed because we were never truly wanted. She arrived in a white van made orange from the dust of the dirt roads and barren paddocks that made up most of this station. They pulled up out the front of the homestead and as the dust cleared I waited to see who it was that join me in this cesspool of a life. It was like removing the sheet of a mural, it wasn’t until it was all visible that one could bare the true beauty and master craftsmanship of the piece. She was slight in figure, and roughly my height at just under 6ft, her features were well defined with deep brown eyes, the same dark soft tone of her skin. I could not stare longer, for my owner who I affectionately named the whip came into view from the homestead
I didn’t see her again for another 2 days and each day was filled with longing to see her, talk to her, I came to the realisation that I was infatuated, and was more than fine with that deduction. Of cause a man in my position has much else to keep himself amused. I tend to the stables, as I have worked with horses since I could walk, it was not the most pleasant of jobs, but it could be much worse. So I never dared complain there was also the owner of the station, and my owner who where the same man, He was a man of short temper, even shorter with bad news which I found out the hard way. The third day of her arrival was when I met her face to face. She was put to mucking out the stables with me; I introduced my self and asked her where she had been bought from. She barely glanced up as she worked and mumbled “Sophie” she was sullen, depressed, her face betrayed her feelings as she worked without a sound. So instead I talked to the horses to break the awkward silence.
That night I came to the realisation that I never saw her after dark; it seemed that she was the whips new plaything. A beautiful slave is a dangerous thing in these times, for a slave was never allowed to marry or become involved with another slave; the punishment for the second was death. I knew this all too well and yet I pursued her, talked to her and eventually became her friend. On occasion Sophie would come into the stables with bruises on her arms, and once a black eye. I remember these times the most because that was the beginning of our relationship. She would cry on my shoulder and I would comfort her, telling her that by pleasing the whip she made it easier on all of the other slaves on the station. In hindsight this may not have been the best thing to say but seemed to give her a sense of duty and she never let him win. It was on one of these nights that we first slept together, and afterwards I couldn’t help but think that I just signed my own death warrant. As time went on we became more involved more often, and every time I became more fearful that we would be caught. My fears were warranted not four months since my angel arrived when one of the white stations hands caught us with my shirt off and Sophie’s hands moving down my back. Before I knew he was there I was pulled to my feet and punched in the face, I tried to hit back, but the attempt earned me another blow to the stomach. Sophie was then dragged to her feet, wide eyed and scared she was thrown in the corner where she stayed. I tried to stop the hail of blows, but my eye had already swollen and I was dizzy. I didn’t know the name of the aggressor, but names were not necessary all I knew was that my name was soon to be forgotten.
Standing here looking through the loop of the noose I am still surprised as to how fast people rally to a hanging, my hands bound and face swollen I stand here on a hey cart thinking about the events leading up to the present. I think that where I given the same hand of cards again I would play them the same, for although I am going to die a nameless man, I have experienced all that I wished to experience in this life. I hear some one, a woman ask “what was his crime?” and a man answer “he raped a white girl, scum like that deserves to die” I smiled at that, at how they can fabricate such stories just to kill a man. My thought stray to Sophie and what was to become of her as my owner, with his whip by his side begins to read my crime and punishment. It seemed very formal for a lowly black man. Scanning the crowed I spot a man with a rifle aimed at me in case I try to run. Which would be faster I think to myself. ‘To jump and be shot or to be hung like a thief, either way I am a dead man.... I jump.
Last edited by Shadow Reeves : 04-08-2008 at 07:04 AM.
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, the topic was justice and equity(or lack there of) 
