A Country Divided : Through Blood United

The Beginning: Murder

Any pro-slavery man who lays their hands on an anti-slavery man, I vowed to myself. Will feel the wrath of Evangeline Freebourne.

***

    A few days after the murder of the innocent, anti-slavery man, I stayed in the streets, scanning everyone to make sure no violence broke out. I sat on the bench in the shade, my knife in hand. I turned it to admire its glint in the afternoon sun.

    Suddenly, I see a police officer grab the wrists of a random lady. He slammed her against the wall of a store. I eavesdropped on the conversation.

    "How dare you rebel against this country's tradition called slavery, little lady," he growled. He spat out the last two words with such hatred and anger that it made me cringe.

    "B-but," she stammered. "There's a new constitution now, and you can't hurt anyone that rebels against slavery." Her words were shaky, quiet, and I could instantly tell that the policeman was scaring her.

    "Oh," he laughed. "You think that I abide by those stupid laws made by some sore losers? Pssh. They were just sad that they lost and just flipped the rules around. I'm going by the real constitution that we voted for, it's all fair and square," He had a difference in tone this time. His words were solemn and intimidating. He was getting annoyed.

    I, myself, became annoyed too. Annoyed how this pompous police officer can stride up to anyone against slavery and be able to arrest them. Why can't he just tell them to be pro-slavery? It would be better that using violence to solve your problems.

    Frustration and anger boiled within me. I rose from my bench, my pistol in hand. I stored over to the struggling lady and the angry police officer. My knuckles grew white as I clutched the knife, but I knew that I would use my words before trying to solve the problem with violence. I hoped to never come to violence and have the police officer just continue with his day.

    "Excuse me," I said with an irritated tone.

    The police officer whipped his head around to take a glance at me.

    "Ah," he chuckled from deep in his stomach. "It's little Evangeline Freebourne, trying to gain more fame by telling me off."

    "It's not like that, I wasn't trying to gain more fame," I snarled. "I was simply doing the right thing by helping my friend escape."

    The police officer gasped. "Was that little slave girl your friend? Jewel, correct? I remember seeing her in Wisconsin running for her life. She wanted to get to Canada oh-so-bad. Too bad that I was in the way." He twirled a pistol of his own in one of his hands while still holding the lady hostage.

    I connected the dots quickly. I figured out that the police officer was at the Canada-America border, and when Jewel attempted to cross, the officer shot and killed her with the very same pistol he is holding right now.

    Suddenly, I screamed. Not from pain, not from any type of physical blow that hurt me. I was mentally and emotionally hurt, knowing that one of my best friends from my childhood was gone.

I would never be able to hear her sweet, uplifting voice. I would never be able to have sewing lessons with her, no matter how much I hated it. I would never be able to see her bouncy curly hair coil around the sides of her face, and I would never be able to see those beautiful blue eyes that I loved so much.

I couldn't take it anymore. A waterfall of tears streamed down my cheeks, blurring my vision. I growled at the police officer, my anger showing in my tone. My cheeks suddenly became warm as I wrapped my sweaty fingers around the handle of my knife.

"Go to hell," I mumbled sharply under my breath to the police officer.

Without hesitation, I swung my arm toward the police officer's chest, and I plunged the blade into his lungs, instantly puncturing them. He was sent backward and landed in a ball of aching pain. Blood oozed out of his chest, pooling next to him. I didn't care for his pain, he deserved to not see tomorrow.

I wiped my sweaty forehead and made my way to the lady.

"Are you alright?" I asked, my voice shaky from my previous fit of anger.

She nodded slowly. "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks for, uh," she paused awkwardly. "Thanks for killing that police officer. He was doing stuff like this since he was a teenager, and he was never caught."

All I could respond with was a smile, and I finally said have a nice day.

The lady wished me a nice day also, and we both parted ways, and I didn't notice the rest of the officer's posse in the distance that I should've taken care of. After murdering that police officer, the idea of murder became more comfortable with me.