A Slave's Freedom

Wrinkles. She wears them well. Her age shows through her long, curvy wrinkles, which hang directly below her eyes. Her brown eyes are always stuck to the sight of those old white keys. Her elegant strokes of her feeble old fingers mesmerize me. I watch them glide over each and every key, sometimes pressing them to create her melody. She sang with the mockingbirds. They are her chorus. She is their bridge.

"Goin' down the road we never known,

Goin' down the road we never known!

So take a right, hang a left,

Take another step-

So we goin' down the road we never known!

"My son was taken down that road,

My son was taken down that road!

He was thrown into the fields,

and told to cross them yields,

so he'd never go down that road!

"Goin' down the road we never known,

Goin' down the road we never known!

So take a right, hang a left,

Take another step-

So we goin' down the road we never known!"

I watch her play, her old hands still keeping the pace of the song. She sings with her whole heart, while she strikes key after key. Her mockingbirds join in with their pleasant chirping while perching upon a large oak branch.

"My son was taken down the road!

He was taken down that very road!

His little feet were sold for sheet,

and little hands were full of heaps,

just to go down that very road!

"Goin' down the road we never known,

Goin' down the road we never known!

So take a right, hang a left,

Take another step-

So we goin' down the road we never known!"

At this point, I hear the song change to something I absolutely dread. Her voice is like a warning: soft yet laced with the sorrows of the past.

"My son, do not forget me,

Please, do not forget me!

They are rushin' up them steps,

And wadin' through the waters,

so we're taken down that road—"

She holds back a sob, which breaks the tempo of her song.

"I hear'em comin' up the steps."

I heard a few boots clatter against the wood outside.

"He is here, my little one.

Make sure you are not done," she says while pointing her shaky finger at me.

With one breath, she sings her final notes.

"My beautiful little boy..."

The door opens.

"...keep my love forever."

She hollers.

The Master and his friends swarm around my momma. They grasp her arms, hoisting them off her only freedom to place them near the large wooden table beside them. One grasped his rifle and stabbed it on the nearby wooden slab. It stayed in place due to its large bayonet, putting fear both in my momma and I.

"You lowly niggers slashin' our songs?" One of the white man says. He wears a black hat. His blue eyes... "Butcherin' our songs requires some payment..." His grin makes my heart turn to paste. "Do you know the price?"

My momma takes a risk despite those two, strong white men who have her arms in their grasps. "My pretty self?"

The man gags and motions for one of the men to move her left hand to the table. The other nods and smacks her hand onto it.

Momma grimaces. 'What're ya goin' do to me?"

A mockingbird chirps in the distance.

She spots the sword, which is curved, long, and bloody. Fresh wet blood. "No..."

The man grinned. "Ya will pay me with your fingas..."

She squirmed in the men's grasp. I hear her cry, telling me to look away; don't let her baby see.

"Come on, little boy, watch your mother lose her finga'."

I approach the table and see my momma's tears. They are sliding down her face, flooding it's pretty shine. Her gaze is stuck to her hands, which were being slowly glazed over by the blade. No cuts made; the sword hovers over her hands in intimidation.

"So which little piggy gets to see the city?"

My momma's crumbling freedom appears tear-stricken on her lovely face. She whimpers and continues to protest.

Yet, my Master had other plans.

"Mr. Stockton, may you please?"

The man holding the blade coughs. "Sorry," he says before turning to my momma for one last time. "May ya learnt your lesson."

The blade comes upon her.

My mind is swimming of my mother. She always speaks to me with a smile on her face. Just... That night was different. She was crying. Then she lost it all. Within seconds.

Tears begin to leave me as I open my eyes. I have my arms still swung around Rainbow Dash, who is snoring softly in this tunnel of darkness. The tunnel's distinct darkness is getting worse now. I can barely see a thing.

The torch!

To my left was what was left of the torch. It's soggy and wet, which made me confused.

Weren't we on dry ground last night?

I let the thought linger within my mind while I come to grips with our situation. Our torch is gone, so we were now left without a light source. We need to find one. Badly.

I poke Dash in what I think is her stomach.

'Eep!" she squeaks as she opens her eyes. I can see how they shine and glimmer in the dark. Her eyes become wide as saucers. "Dyson?"

I hold her tight. "Dash, the torch is out."

She gasps. "Did it..."

"Yes, it's a goner," I say. "So what do we do?"

Rainbow Dash sighs. "Since we're only going further and further down this tunnel with no other way out..." She pauses. "I guess we gotta go down."

"Down there?"

Rainbow Dash giggles. "No, we're going down some other tunnel."

I groan. "Dash, this isn't funny..."

"I know, Dyson, I know." She squirms in my grasp. "Mind letting go?"

I release the pegasus from my grasp. She turns to me and says, "Thanks for being my pillow last night."

I frown at this comment, which Rainbow Dash picks up instantly. Before she can open up her mouth, I say, "My sister used to say the same thing."

"Oh..." was all Rainbow Dash could say as she strays away from me. I sigh and pull her closer, our sides touching. "Don't move away. I need to be able to make sure I don't lose you too."

Rainbow Dash gasps. "Lose you too?"

I let her slip. It wasn't my intention to let Rainbow Dash know. My little sister was young when she passed. On Sweet Acres, when a young slave was slaughtered, we would sing our song. It was well known among the other communities around us, even the white man. They knew of it too, because of us slaves spreading it like wildfire. The sweet chariot would come take her and send her to heaven. It was simple. Simple as pie.

But that day...

My Master was not wanting to hear no mourning.

Any one of ya that sings that cursed song will be havin' their tongue cut out and given to the dogs!"

To put it this way, my Master was not my friend no more. He was friendly when I came, then bitter the next. I...

I don't know what he is anymore.

I choke back a sob. "I-It's a long story, Dash."

She pokes me with one of her hooves. "Dyson..." Her voice carried throughout the tunnel. "I know your past is grim..."

"Corn's been a bit... *grim*."

"I know you're full of wonderful things..."

"You niggers always blabber and *never think*!"

'So why don't we just leave it at that?"

"Ah always wanna be like this."

I couldn't look at her. I couldn't even respond. I just... begin to swim. Swim in my own waters.