MULATTO (Iyila) (Editing)

chapter one ~ Dedicated to 1RLoverEma88

DEFENCE

The year 1860... South Carolina

She was in the kitchen washing the dishes when she heard a scream, it seemed ... familiar. Just like the one she'd heard two days ago, right before the suicide.

She went rigid as the screaming intensified. She could clearly identify the fear, uncertainty and pain in the child's voice as it continued to wail for help that would certainly never come.

The beast was at it again. No one else could be heartless enough to brutally rip away a child's innocence. "Bloody bastard!" she painfully cursed as she abruptly stopped washing and covered her ears with her wet palms when she could no longer bear the child's anguish.

She felt her heart swell with rage so enormous that it could not be described with mere words. Her agitated body spurred her on to fight back. But it was useless, not just useless but also extremely stupid. Fighting back was dangerous.

They were slaves, hopeless, defenceless and tools in the hands of their masters. Fighting back attracted anger - and anger attracted skin reaping lashes. The safest option they had was to bury it all in tears.

"Momma help!"

She heard the girl wail for help. Iyila wanted to help but her body protested with the little energy it had because it was yet to recover from the lashes it had already received for fighting back the previous week.

Slowly, she sank down to the floor and buried her face in her arms as tears gladly danced down her face. She sobbed for the agonizing feeling the child was about to experience if the beast finally achieved its savage need.

Not all of them could bear it, neither could her dearest friend Sarabi. A black slave who had covered for her inefficiency when she was ill with fever. They instantly became friends and at all times stood for each other until that dreaded day. A day she could not easily forget. The very day the master raped Sarabi.

That instant she felt as if she was wrapped in a cocoon of pain so tremendous it made her gasp for air. It was difficult to breath, but it was far more difficult to live with the guilt of watching an only friend being ravished by their brutal slave master without the slightest show of mercy.

Sleep had been a forbidden thing to her ever since she'd witnessed that scene and today, once again, she couldn't do anything except shed useless tears and pray to a God that was clearly nonchalant about their situation. There was no God. It was an illusion. It was time to move on. It was time to face reality and defend themselves - because no one ever would, or could - it was time to fight back.

She got up slowly not minding the way her weary body kept supplying her with numerous reasons why fighting back was almost suicidal. But none of those reasons were going to stop her this time - she would not let them get in her way again. It was better than sulking about an already rotten predicament. Perhaps it could pay off for not standing up for a friend who had always fought for her.

She trembled as she walked to the kitchen door, fearing that her body might betray her any second but her greatest fear were the consequences of retreating. She was certain guilt would not pardon her, she knew it would punish her with every brutal weapon it had, so she ran with every ounce of energy that she had left. She met some of the slaves working near the staircase, their faces tearstained with an unimaginable pain.

"It's useless, Iyila... " she heard one of the slaves whisper as she scurried up the stairs, but her mind was already made up too strongly to pay any heed to their advice. The last thing she needed was their discouragement. She ran up the stairs and straight to the room where the screams originated. Still indecisive, she stood there breathing heavily, but she knew there was no going back. So she pushed and with one heavy thrust, the door flew open.