The Dumb Slave

1

14/5/1860

morning

in the attic

I'm sitting on the cold floor, daydreaming as I gaze out of the small window on top of the cracked walls. The cobwebs and dust obscure most of the view, but I can still make out the beautiful blue sky outside, with birds streaking freely across it.

I sigh miserably. Even the birds have more freedom than me. 

Just as I'm about to get up and take a brush to clean the space, screams echo from outside the window. I leap up and run to the opening to see what's going on, tiptoeing to get a better view.

The first thing I see is a big farmhouse surrounded by a lush green garden, and I can't help but suck in my breath, fascinated. I rarely get the chance to go outside, as I'm still young and therefore only responsible for cleaning the house. But as my eyes dart from the colorful flowers soaking in the radiant sunlight to the red walls of the farmhouse, I let out a startled gasp — three faint outlines are standing next to a wall, while two other, with bulkier appearances, yell at them to line up, waving their hands violently.

I zone in on their hands, and discover that they are holding whips, whips so long and thick that a strike from them will most definitely cause a long-lasting wound.

I back away from the window, my legs feeling like jelly.

That's when I hear a stern knock on the wooden trapdoor.

"Ava?" Miss Spooker's voice echoes from below me. "Are you there? Ava!" Her tone seems frustrated, even angry. "You've been up there for an hour already! Are you done cleaning? Daliah promised you would be diligent today!"

I want to yell at her for expecting so much from me, but I hold my tongue. Instead, I crawl for the lock and frantically try to snap it shut, only to yelp in pain when the sharp ends cut my finger. I wince as a bit of blood seeps from the wound. Suddenly, I feel a strange sensation tingle all over my body — my mind slows, my head starts hurting...

Flashbacks. I realize in horror. I get flashbacks from my past when I see blood, and most of the times, they bring along unbearable headaches. Some severe ones may even cause my head to hurt so much it will feel like it's about to split open; today is one of those times.

Please... 

No...

I gasp as I feel my lungs contracting, pushing all the air out of my body. 

Then the voices come. I'm so sorry, but we cannot save him. The doctor's words ring all around me like trumpet-like blares, amplifying second by second. I shut my eyes in fear, arms and legs shivering and convulsing.

Why am I even holding onto these memories? What do I have to lose if I choose death? I repeat these words again and again as I feel like being on the verge of fainting. Just then, my mother's gentle voice sounds in my head, like a rainbow cutting through storm clouds, wrapping me in warm rays of light. Don't worry, my dear, dear girl, everything will be fine...

I start to smile at the comfort of her words, but just then Miss Spooker rattles the trapdoor, jarring me back to reality. 

"I'm not going to repeat this again. Just come out when you're done cleaning. But don't expect to have a fulfilling meal today."

My lips quiver, my body still shaken from the flashback. What did I even do to deserve all of this? I just want to be a normal person, to live life and have equal privileges as everyone else. Why am I so unlucky?

I collapse against the wall, curling into a ball of crying mess. 

My mother and I originally worked at factories before some businessman tricked us into entering an auction, and Miss Spooker, as a servant to her master and knowing the fact that they were short of laborers, bought us and made us slaves for her master. I think bitterly to myself. It's her fault that we ended up here. 

Miss Spooker monitors us and tells us what to do each day; I've never even seen her master — our master — although he owns this house, the farmhouse and the land around them. Possibly even more property. It's normal for slaves like us to not get to see such people from high classes, but the reason why I don't have a clue about what he looks like is because he has traveled to another country before I even got here. According to Miss Spooker, he intends to extend his stay; unfortunately, he has brought most of his servants abroad with him, and he's afraid that his premises here will eventually be in bad conditions. That's why Miss Spooker bought us, along with several others.

We work for free, my mother and I. We don't have any sort of repayment, and if we don't appear to work as hard as Miss Spooker requires us to, we get beatings. There's a slave code we have to follow too — no reading, no meeting in groups of more than four, no marrying someone and so on. I only know how to write because I've gone to school before, but the other slaves have been here their whole entire lives. I can't imagine how painful and difficult their lives must have been, and still are, especially knowing that they themselves are born just to be slaves.

But then again... I think to myself. I can't blame Miss Spooker for being so strict and mean, particularly these few days.

If she is frustrated about my behavior, I can understand why. I've been disobedient from the beginning because I don't like this kind of unfair treatment and I'm sure there's some way to rebel against it. But the fact is — she's not. I'm sure of it. It's as clear as day: she is mourning for her passed away husband. And I can see invisible tears falling down from her cracked heart.