What was one to do when they held a dark secret that could ruin a man's reputation? Keep it quiet of course! I had managed to keep my mouth shut about the three children and the 'slave mistress,' but the urge was threatening to be more powerful than my will to keep quiet. The embarrassment of the ball had yet to dull and as the days passed, it festered in my heart. It was another sunny day on the Davis plantation with slaves working hard in the fields and house slaves, for lack of a better word, slaving away. Emilia and I were plucking freshly killed chickens for dinner that night while Patricia and Maria were off milking cows.
Yes, freshly killed chickens that looked me in the eye and begged me to save them. Plucking them was even worse, but Emilia seemed totally fine with it. Not sure if that was a sign she'd be a serial killer. I picked up the cleanest feather in the pile and tucked it into one of Emilia's braids. She giggled, reaching up with her little fingers to touch it.
"You are the most beautiful little girl in the world." I said.
"As beautiful as mama?" she asked.
"Yes, as beautiful as mama."
"Where is she? Why isn't she here?"
I dropped my gaze back to the dead chicken.
"We'll have her back soon, don't worry. But in the mean time I'll take care of you."
"And I'll take care of you."
Davis pushed open the swinging kitchen door, feigning being touched by our moment. He looked at Emilia and ordered her out of the room. The hell she was. Davis seemed to sense my retort and gave me a nasty look that silenced me before I had even dared speak. I leaned down and told Emilia to wait just outside the kitchen door and not to move until I came to get her. She hopped down timidly passing Davis. When she was gone, Davis eliminated the distance between us. I eyed the steel kitchen knife resting on the cutting board.
"How's your bottom?" he asked, reaching down with a cupped hand. I swatted it away lighting his short fuse. He snatched up the knife and pressed it to my neck. The cool steel sunk into my skin as I swallowed down my terror.
"Have we not learned yet? You're mine." He said.
"Am I? Do I belong to you as much as your three, half-white, half-slave children?"
His pupils dilated in fear. "What did you see?" His tone had turned low, thin, and calculated.
"Enough to know that if you touch me again, I'll tell Mrs. Davis." I threatened.
"Tell her, and you'll get a worse punishment than an ass branding. Are we clear?"
"Don't touch me again, Master Davis."
He released me giving me a quick slap. My hair lay strewn over my face as I reached for my stinging cheek. The anger was surging through me like boiling water in my veins.
"You respect me, you little bitch." he sneered.
I glared at him, willing myself to develop super killing powers in 2.1 seconds, but nothing. He fixed up his mussed suit jacket and left the kitchen. When I was sure he was gone, I rounded the door to collect Emilia. I sat her right back on the counter to finish plucking chickens with me. My cheek continued to sting and turn warm. Another mark left behind by that horrible man.
Patricia and Maria finally returned from their market run and help me make the finishing touches on breakfast. I delivered the completed plates to my masters, whom were bickering once again. How could wealthy people be this miserable? They were the top one percent, what did they have to be angry about? They bought and sold people like cattle. They ate with forks and spoons made of silver. They lived on plantations with beautiful gardens and horses. They had no excuse to be such miserable wretches.
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SLAVE NATIONGeneral Fiction
It's the year 2020, the borders have been closed, a wall has been built around the United States, and we have become the number 1 cotton exporters in the world. However, every success comes with a price. All able bodied males and females, between th...