A Slave's Freedom

“That light is fadin’ pretty fast, isn’t it?” a rough, deep voice says. It sounds like a man, a man with years on him. But I don't know, I can't see him.

Another joins in, his voice more grave. “Yeah, it sure is.”

“Do ya think he’ll make it to see the sunset?”

“Of course.” The gravelly voice pauses for a moment, before continuing, “He’s a strong working negro.”

I feel my body begin to shake. I’ve been trying to communicate with them, but I’m getting no response. I don’t know what’s going on! This bright, white light is making me unable to see anything!

“Strong indeed.”

Then I feel nothing. The shaking and quaking of my body ceases as quickly as it came. The pressure on me was finally gone.

“Yet the nigger couldn’t even survive the South.”

“Of course I can!” I shout as I am finally able to respond to them. Unfortunately they aren't here, but neither is that light. That bright white light no longer phases me.

I look both high and low to see the entire landscape. Below me is the solid earth, however it’s colored differently than the soil I once knew. Its grey texture reminds me of the powder in the white man’s gun. They pointed one of them at me months ago; its long barrel was intimidating. I shake my head. I don’t need to remember those things, not with this foreign territory lying in front of me. To the skies above me is a whole different scene. A mighty, white dense fog covers the light blue sky I always saw back home. It made me feel free for just a few moments to stare at it in awe. How could something be so blue? But all I see now is the white fog. The thought of it being here makes my stomach churn.

I sigh and sit up, letting my hands slowly swipe across the ground. Each swipe feels rough and grainy against my fingers. I remember this feeling when I was tending to the fields back on the farm. Although I didn’t really want to do it at first, I was easily convinced by my ma and pa to do it. They said it kept them calm, and I began to understand what they meant: the way the dirt flowed through my fingers made me understand the land. Yet, this wasn't the only thing they told me. They told me to always follow what the white man said, otherwise they’d do something extremely horrible to us. I didn’t want to know what they would do; it would make me depressed. So I had to bite my tongue and move on; I’d rather be alive than tortured or worse.

“This is goin’ be fun…” I carefully pull myself up and stand proud for all who I thought were there. I was the tallest one both in my family and on the farm. My family was proud to have a son like me, so tall and dedicated. They knew I would do something more once we left, but that would be if we ever do leave. Despite the fact that the work wasn’t exactly what we wanted, nor that we couldn’t say what we wanted otherwise they’d make us work to the point of exhaustion or starving us for the entire day, I think I had an okay time there. The white man respected me enough to get some food for their family and that alone speaks volumes.

The dense fog makes it hard for me to see, but I trudge on, walking into the foggy depths of this place. I don’t know where the hell I’m at or why I’m here. Maybe some white man was upset that I was getting educated by my owner. Heh, jealousy.

As I continue to walk, I remember my owner: his white worn skin matching his old beige hat upon his head; his brown, short shaggy hair complimenting his brown leather duster; and his black pants with gold studs racing down his legs, leading towards his black boots with the letters “CTN” etched in a bright, saturated yellow on his heels. I never understood what CTN meant, but I guess I will never know considering I’m lost. This place doesn’t seem like home at all.

I can’t help but wonder if I’m even going anywhere. The foreign soil collides with my tattered shoes that the white man gave me to protect my black rough feet. At my age, having feet looking like mine was normal. It was just a thing we’d have to go through as a people, as a group, as a being against the white man. I—

Suddenly, my foot collides with something softer, something more wet which ends my train of thought in an instant.

“What the hell did I jus’ step in?” I step into the mush some more, curious as can be.

The soil here felt softer than the bone dry surface I was previously walking on. It felt like it was saturated, almost like a riv—

“Oh, I'm stupid.”

I sigh and retract my foot from the edge of some kind of stream. I don’t know where this thing leads, nor do I know what could happen if I followed it. However, I know my ma would probably be hollering at me to do something about it. She always told me to go and do something or you’ll never get it again.

Don’t be 'fraid of takin’ a risk…

My mother's words echo in my head as I look at the place where my foot touched last. The thought of going forward in a place so unknown still irks me, but after a few seconds of contemplating over my fate, I shrug and walk alongside the stream. My feet sinks into the mush after every step I take. As time flies by, the path I walk on becomes perpetually soaked versus the dry, rough terrain I started on.

“I hope I find a way outta this fog,” I say while peering through my half-lidded eyes. This fog is starting to get to me. “I hate fog.”

I continue walking forward, hoping for an end. Unfortunately, that end will never come. I feel like I’ve been walking for hours, my legs are beginning to ache. There is no way I’m getting out of here! I’m going to be lost in this fog forever!

“There anyone out here!”

I wait for a moment, hoping to hear someone reply. Instead, I am given something a bit more unexpected than someone else. I hear my shout suddenly echo back to me.

“I near a cliff?” I ask as I feel the hairs on my back of my neck standing on end. I'm a-need be careful of where I'm walkin' or it might be my last. I sigh, look at the ground before me, and cautiously take a step forward.

Nothing happens.

So far, so good.

I take an even larger step forward.

Nothing happens.

I eventually begin to build up a pattern, the perpetual state of cautiousness building as I slowly gain ground. I know that this could be the end of me if I happen to slip and fall off the edge of the world or something. Knowing my luck, this would happen in a heartbeat. My past luck was even worse sometimes, especially on the night when I lost one of my best friends, who was a worker on the same farm as I. He had messed up numerous amounts of times when tending to the crops: he’d break a few or try to sneak some of it away and eat it with his family. The boss wasn’t alright with that at all. He spotted my friend picking some corn and giving it to other slaves to eat. He shouted at him which made my friend try to scurry away. I saw him run as fast as he could because he was the fastest runner on the farm. Yet, not fast enough to dodge a bullet, which was what the boss shot him with. The boss’ gun had a long barrel to it, which gave him the range he needed to take him down. It was a loud shot; a shot that definitely rivaled the shot heard around the world. I watched as the bullet pierced his skull, shattering everything and leaving nothing behind.

That night was horrific: several slaves tried to mourn for my friend but the boss didn’t want to hear any of it. He threatened us with more work and longer hours of starvation if he heard us whimper or see us even shed a tear for him. All we could do was work and watch as the ravens ate him to bits. This event was a way to show his dominance over us. His farm was one of the largest in the area: a strong three-hundred slave population that tended to his two fields of cotton and wheat. Of course I’m not in the fields now like I remember I was…

I have no idea where I’m at.

“Hello!” I shout once again.

All I get is the return of my voice.

“I'm alone out here…” I whisper to myself, the fog still as dense as can be.

Suddenly, I hear a voice from behind me. It’s scratchy and…

...feminine?

“LOOK OUT!”

As I turn around to see the incoming object barreling towards me, I think to myself.

I'm really this stupid?

Suddenly I fall to the earth and taste those dull-colored grains that I have been stepping on for the past few hours. I wheeze as the air I had a few seconds ago is forced out of me. Whatever hit me had to be going fast. I never got myself handed this easily back on the farm. I groan as I attempt to sit up but feel an intense flare of pain course through my chest. I grimace and hold it with my hand. It feels like I cracked a rib, but no worries, I can deal with this. I've been through worse.

I look around in search of whatever hit me. If I had an injury this bad, then they must’ve had thousands of them broken.

Then, I hear her moan.

“Ughhh…”

I sigh and spot her shadow against the rocky incline. It must be huge because those shadows don’t lie. I cautiously take my first few steps towards the rocks, wondering what it could be. Is it a pig? A cow? A giant bird?

I slowly creep around the rock and see what appears to be a horse of some kind. Except it wasn’t the kind I remember the white men had on the farm. They had one to ride on in case one of us got away.

Which, never happened.

I think the horse’s name was Barry or something.

This one did not look like Barry in the slightest. Its cyan coat and multi-colored hairdo with the odd marks on its backside gives it a sort of foreign, out of touch feel. I don’t know what I’m looking at. Maybe this horse was from the neighbor’s farm or something. After all, he did have some weird horses there. I attempt to carefully walk over to this fallen horse, tiptoeing in my tattered shoes while holding in my pained grunts. I didn’t want to scare the poor thing, it must’ve been galloping really quick to me that hard.

“I’m never going to fly low like that ever again…” The horse says as I—she pulls herself off the ground, her…

...wings?

“What're you?” my good-for-nothing brain announces on an impulse, startling the poor thing as she falls straight on her flank once again.

The horse turns around, her magenta eyes now staring at me. “What are you!?” she says in reply, her eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“I'm Dyson, a slave from Northern Mississippi, ma’am,” I say calmly. “How are ya speakin’ my language?”

The horse tilts her head to her side. “How are you speaking Equestrian?!” she says while trying to back pedal with her hind legs, the sight of me apparently shocking her. I am shocked too. A horse that looks like a clown and can talk; someone must’ve drugged the neighbor’s horse or something.

“What is Equestrian?”

The horse suddenly stops moving and looks at me with a deathly glare. “You don’t know what Equestrian is?”

I nod to show my stupidity. What is Equestrian and where can I find it? If it can give you a clown look, wings, and paint you blue, then I’m all for it.

“Nope. I’m from the South, remember? We slaves don’t get educated ‘bout these things,” I say politely. Her facial expression suddenly softens.

“Slave?”

I nod again.

“Why?”

Now that, I couldn’t answer.

All my life I was on that farm. It was my home. I didn’t get to know anything else. I was a slave. Nothing like the white man and their freedom.

“I couldn’t really tell ya myself,” I say, causing her to try and stand up. She grunts and looks up at me, her pained expression telling me all I need to know.

“So you be injured too now, aren’tcha?”

She nods, her wings having a hard time folding to her sides.

“I don’t know if I can fly with these bending like this,” she says with a frown. “I guess we’re going to have to walk out of here…”

“Ya know the way out!?” I say with excitement, causing the horse to flinch.

“Yeah, it’s up ahead…”

I am smiling like a doofus right now…

...and I don’t care.

With a sudden burst of energy, I pull myself up and turn my attention to her. “Let’s go.”

The blue clown-like horse nods as we begin our ascension past this god-forsaken fog...