Caged Bird Screaming

Reality

George splashed some water on his face. He sighed with pleasure as the water washed away the anger running through his veins.

He wiped his face with a cloth and looked himself in the mirror.

 “I am not a dog.”

George closed his eyes trying to rid himself of Axe’s voice. Why should he care? All Negroes were dogs who only knew of human sacrifices and cannibalism. Only a good whipping would change their feral temperament.

 “George.”  His wife stood near the doorway, her green eyes sharp and alert like a hawk.

“We have another one.” He told her.

“Male or female?” She asked.

 “Male.” He replied. She nodded and walked away.

George looked at himself once again. He had to see his son.

........

Henry stood by the window gazing across the cotton field. He could see an endless sea of white across the horizon but there was a slight problem. Slaves were there, toiling under the hot sun, their dark skin making a strong contrast with the cotton.

“Henry come here.” Henry stiffened when he heard his father’s voice. “Come on.” Henry slowly went to him. George touched his son’s shoulder. Henry flinched.

“About what happened today, I want to tell you the Negro deserved what he got. Negroes are cruel and vile. They are animals Henry. They shall never be human. They are not like us.”

Henry didn’t say a word. He had seen what happened. Henry looked at his father’s eyes, once blue and calm, but now they were ice cold and harsh, without a sense of love in those blue depths.

George walked away and Henry stood still for a long time, before returning to his spot by the window. He looked down. The Negroes didn’t seem vile. They did their work and never spoke.

........

Harriet sat on her rocking chair sewing. She was the mistress. She was the feared one, the brutal one. Her presence sent shockwaves through the slaves, who dreaded her cold hard stare and the lash of her whip.

Harriet lifted her gaze from her work as a young house servant entered the room with a tray of food. The girl was beautiful and it made her jealous. She was the mistress. Why should a slave be more beautiful than her?

She tripped the girl with her foot and smiled with satisfaction as she fell to the ground. A small scream escaped the girl’s lips as the jug of hot tea spilt all over her apron and clothes. Rice and gravy scattered across the carpet.

“Mistress I’m -I’m so sorry.” The servant began picking the jug from the floor.

“Leave it.” Harriet’s icy voice froze the servant.

She placed her work on the table and went to the servant. She smiled as she sensed girl’s fear. She stood before the girl.

 “What happened?”  She asked.

The girl fell short of words.

“I said, what happened?” Harriet’s voice raised an octave higher.

“I tripped.” The girl answered.

“Why did you trip?”

The girl bit her lip. She couldn’t answer the mistress’ question.

“I said,” Harriet yanked the girl by the hair and lifted her onto her feet “What happened?”

The girl said through gritted teeth “You tripped me.”