The Writer

One

I remember the day like any other day.

The day I wish never happened and would never happen again.

I remember how bright the sun was and how hard the wind pushed.

I recall the screams of children wanting the family back.

I remember sobs of women wanting their loved one's back in their arms.

I recall the terror in slaves eyes as the watched their owners be killed in front of them.

The one day we thought it would be a day free of violence.

The day our home was attacked by the workers of the man that started all this mess.

The day, our home, the Alamo, was attacked.

The day started off nice and cool. A nice breeze came from the east giving enough chill to keep us cold. My deep brown pants cuffed tightly, my vest seemingly lose over my dress shirt. My emerald eyes gazing around. My deep brown hair swaying slightly as I walked. I, like many, was out and about. Strolling through this small town nearby. Many people were out, walking with family and friends. Kids running about, chasing others, playing, having fun. Women chatting about clothes and buying food. Men walking with wives and kids, making sure they stay close and protected. Even some soldiers were walking around having fun, being relaxed. All around were bright colors calling out, "Come over here and see what we have!" Even dark colors that whisper, "Come look at these mysterious wonders." The smell of freshly cooked meat and newly baked sweets filled the area. The sweet smell of fresh bread filled my lungs and my stomach screamed for food. Sadly, I was to busy and low on money to get any. I, personally, came out to find more work. I mainly worked as this money tracker for a big stall. We sell many anglos (Americans) items like: accessories, jewelry, everyday necessities, food, and clothes we have found. And by we, I mean me. They set me up to steal stuff from anglos and ruin/add to it slightly to make sure no one notices it theirs. When I'm not stealing, I'm either finding more work to do, eating, or sleeping. Sometimes, when items aren't bought, there given back to me to keep or throw out. I'm usually excited to get food and new clothes. For other items I don't really need, I usually toss it out or make it look more new so we could try to sell it again. The only reason I'm working for them, is because they said they would turn me in if I even thought about quitting.

Walking around, I started seeing some soldiers get tense talking to other men. To many, they wouldn't look any different than they were before. To few, there's a massive change. I was one of those few. I was one that can tell everyone's moods once it has changed. The soldiers were nervous. But why? There was no real reason to be nervous. How could such a nice day be ruined so quickly? That's when it struck me. They were never nervous unless something bad was going to happen. Usually death.

Now I wish I had asked what was going to happen, what I should do to help stop it, but I was too late.

The sounds of screams, cries, and gunshots filled my ears with great volume. I looked around, hoping, wishing, it was just a robbery of some kind. Some kind of small crime or a little street fight could've happened.

Oh how hard i wished.

At Least 15 miles away, were soldiers lined up by the main entrance with generals, leaders, commanders. There was a large group of males and even a few women who agreed to help fight. Among these group of men and women, were two of my greatest friends. Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie. The main leader told everyone to be prepared for anything and everything. At the time, I was confused by why everyone was there. I sensed confusion, fear by the rest of the women and children that didn't/cant fight. From the fighters, there was hope, determination, fear, and nervousness.

Before I knew it, I was being shoved into a hidden room with women and children to young to fight. Looking how I am, I must seem really weak to fight. My clothes were getting wrinkled and my arms, back, and chest stared to take up all this pain. My skin seemed to want to be covered in patched of black and blue. My face scrunched up, wincing as more pain took toll.

Suddenly, I was in a dark damp room underground, with less than 100 people. All that was heard were cries of kids wanting the fathers and older brothers back. The slightly muffled sounds of gunshots and men screaming out battle cries. The smell of gunpowder and blood taking over the smell of fresh baked goods in a snap. The happiness and relaxation turned to fear and terror. I was completely shocked, terrified even. I knew what was happening, and no one here wanted it to happen. Grief overcame the shock.  A sudden thought struck like lightning. My friends out there could die. And I wouldn't know till the end of the fight. I gasped, realizing I didn't know where Buck was. Buck was a nickname, that almost everyone used, for my childhood friend William B. Travis. He always wanted to be called by his real name. Seemed so childish, looking back now.

I never knew why, it was too late to even try to ask.

Trails of salty water soon raced down my cheeks as soon as I realized he still might be out there. Fighting for our rights. Fighting for our freedom. Fighting so all of of can eat and breath and live.

I felt arms wrap around me tightly as if they ever loosened, just barely, I would be lost. I yelped quietly, not expecting these arms to appear there. I turned around in a rush, not knowing who it is or what they want from me. I gasped lightly, not expecting to see Buck there, hugging me tightly, not having a single thought to release me until this was over.

I think back now, wishing he had let me go sooner.

I hugged back just as tight, not wanting him to leave my side. "I thought I lost you." Those words were whispered so quietly that it seemed as though there was no sound coming out of my mouth. He told me to stay by him, to help find a safe escape for everyone. To help find away to get everyone here, away from harm.  Make sure everyone in this room, is safe.

I quickly agreed, not knowing how bad the idea really was.

We quickly and quietly left the room, trying not to make a single sound. Walking around, I noticed mothers forcing kids behind them, keeping them from seeing anything that could hurt them. To make sure they don't feel more terrified than before. Siblings huddled together, the older watching out, the youngest holding the other tightly. I felt my dark brown hair bounce to every step, as if jumping to my rapid heartbeat. I looked forward to see Travis looking around frantically, trying to find a spot no one has found yet.

Just then, I noticed a pale tan satchel wrapped diagonally to him, the flap of it flapping slightly. I heard swishing coming from it, sounds of like glass hitting other glass and sticks also hitting this glass. I wanted to find out what was inside, but I knew I shouldn't. Travis doesn't like people going through his items. "Don't touch it! Go away! Stay back!"