Caged Bird Screaming

Illusions

Harriet opened her eyes and blinked in confusion when she found herself staring at a large crowd of Negroes. She turned her head and froze when her eyes locked with Yulana’s brown ones, glistening with unseen tears. She saw George walking towards her from the corner of her eye, and turned to him as the slaves made way for him. She looked him in the eye, trying not to flinch at his cold stare. When his eyes flashed with hatred she looked away, trying not to remember what it felt like when he hit her. He spoke to the slaves and she trembled. What had she done? Why was she standing in front of the Negroes?

She looked up and almost fainted at what she saw. Her creamy white skin was replaced by a dark brown coat. Her small pale hands were now large and covered with scars. She began to tremble, when she realised what was going on. She knew what was going to happen. George was going to do what he did to Miriam. He was going to whip her.

She caught sight of a woman in a blue dress standing at the back of the crowd. Harriet tried franticly to make eye contact with her. When the woman looked up at her, Harriet felt she had gone mad. The woman in the blue dress was Miriam. Miriam was supposed to be dead. She was the one who was meant to be flogged not her. Both women had somehow swapped bodies. There had to be some dark magic involved.

Harriet shook her head. There was nothing as magic. It was all a nightmare that would soon come to an end. She was sure of that. George walked towards her, cracking the whip as he moved. Harriet stared at the whip and swallowed hard when she saw the woven wires at each end of the whip’s lash.

She bowed her head in defeat. This was not supposed to be happening. She was not Miriam. She was not a Negro. She was the mistress. She was George’s wife.

She gasped when George roughly lifted her chin. Both stared into each other’s eyes. George was breathing hard. Harriet knew he was angry. A loud shrill brutally sliced the silence when he slapped her face. Her head swiftly turned to the side by its forceful impact.

She looked back at him and her throat instantly became dry. Would he notice who she was? Would he see what she saw? Would he notice he was making a mistake? He moved behind her cracking the whip once more. Harriet wanted to cry. He hadn’t noticed who she really was.

She screamed as the first lash landed on her back. She threw her body forward as the air rushed out off her lungs. She was getting ready to take some air back into her lungs when the next lash was given. She screamed again. Tendrils of black hair fell across her face. Hot tears began pouring down her cheeks. The lashes poured down on her back like a waterfall.

She looked at Miriam, her eyes flashing with hate. Miriam just smiled loving the torture she was going through. Harriet stopped screaming knowing that the more she screamed, the more satisfaction Miriam got. She knew George was enjoying what he was doing. He was satisfied with what he was doing. He found enjoyment in torturing his slaves.

She shook her head drawing deeper to her thoughts. She too found enjoyment in torturing her slaves. She loved the power she held over them when she’d hit them or trip them over. It felt good. Now it was different because she was the one whose hands were tied above her head. She was the one who was being whipped.

She looked at the ground beneath her and saw her blood running across the ground blending, mixing with the brown dirt. She closed her eyes as her world began to blur as she watched her blood slowly seep onto the ground. The whipping stopped and Harriet’s feet gave away as she slumped onto the pool of blood.