Henry stared at the boy's dark brown eyes and shuddered. He shifted his gaze, but everywhere he looked, he saw them; hundreds of eyes staring straight at him, looking into his very being. He clutched his father's hand in fear as one of them stood on the auction block. His hair, a mass of brown curls resting on his head. His cheeks hollow, eyes gaunt. His hands slender, his nails carved like a claw. The boy was lean, maybe a bit too thin. Henry felt a lump rise in his throat when he saw the boy's ribs poking out of his worn out skin, dry and saggy like that of an old man -but he wasn't old. Henry could see it in his eyes. Eyes never lied.
"Twenty dollars for the boy." Henry turned his head sharply and felt his skin crawl when he saw the man standing on the podium.
People began murmuring amongst themselves, their voices sounding like bees buzzing around in a hive. Henry tightened his grip on his father's hand and watched as some men went up to the boy. He watched in both horror and fascination as they inspected the boy from head to toe, not caring about the boy's privacy.
The boy stood still, shackled in his chains, his body tense as he was poked and prodded.
"Father what are they doing?" Henry asked.
His father looked at him for a moment before turning his gaze to the boy on the block. "They're inspecting it."
"Why? Who is he?"
"It's a Negro."
"What are they going to do with him?"
"They're going to buy it."
"What will they do with him?"
"Stop asking questions Henry."
By now the place was quiet. The boy still stood on the block, his dead eyes glaring at the distance. He intrigued Henry. Maybe it was the way he stood? Maybe it was the way he held his head high?
Henry removed his hand from his father's and tried to imitate the boy's posture. The brown eyes made contact with his green eyes. Eyes never lied. Henry knew that. His father said they were a gateway to the depths of a man's soul.
Henry gasped. His breath hitched a knot as the Negro's eyes pierced his own. He felt vulnerable. He felt naked.
"Father, can we go home now?" Henry could feel his heart hammering within the walls of his chest, threatening to break free of its confinement.
His father shook his head and called out "I'll take the Negro."
Cold sweat broke out on Henry's forehead as he watched his father pay the man on the podium and take the boy's chains. He felt his world was crumbling before his eyes as his father walked towards him with the Negro tagging behind him like a dog on a leash.
"Come on Henry. We're going home."
Henry looked at the boy trying to hide his fear. He reminded Henry of one of his father's blood hounds with his cold eyes and saggy face. "Father why is he in chains? He's not a dog." Henry exclaimed pointing to the boy.
"It is a dog Henry. Now come on." His father ordered impatiently. Henry took his father's hand and began walking beside him. He turned his head to look at the boy up close and realised he was much older than he thought. Henry wondered if he'd run away, but decided against it. There was nowhere for the boy to run. Even if he escaped, he'd have nowhere else to go. The boy looked down on him. Henry swallowed hard. He was reminded of the cold hard stares his father gave him when he had one too many drinks.
He saw a tear fall from the boy's muddy eyes and trickle slowly down his cheek. Henry looked away. There was nothing he could do.
........
Axe felt like a dog with the chain around his neck. The man had called him a dog. But he was no dog. He had a heart. He had a soul. They were both made in God's image. They both had the same rich red blood flowing through their veins. They were both human.
He couldn't understand why his people were sold like cattle. He was in another chapter of his never ending nightmare. Another chapter of his torment was beginning. His found it hard to accept the fact he was losing his family.
The third one in fifteen years.
Axe could feel his anger rise like bile through his throat. Who did they think he was? Who were they, to determine a man's fate? He wanted to howl in agony. He yearned to rip the man before him to shreds with his bare hands. The desire to spit in his face and call him a dog overran his thoughts. He wanted to let him know how it felt to have someone he loved taken away. Maybe killing the child would prove that.
Life was the daily struggle to survive. He spent every second, every minute and every hour of the day waging war with death. But for what? What was the point of his war when he had to endure the pain and hardship working from sunrise to sunset? What was the reason for his existence? Was it living to see his family taken away from him?
Why God? Why? He asked inwardly. Why me? But God wouldn't answer him.
He gritted his teeth to stop himself from calling out. Why was it, that when he needed God, he had to be quiet and turn a blind eye? So much for God.
Axe closed his eyes for a moment trying to remember Three. He had loved her from the moment he met her as a child, alone and frightened under the apple tree after Two had disappeared. He found out some days later that master had sold her to a family. Three became his mother that night under the apple tree. Three was the one who soothed his tears and promised him one day, he'd become a free man. She gave him the name Axe, because he reminded her of her first born son, mauled to death by one of the master's bloodhounds while trying to run away.
Axe remembered Maze, his friend who would run around the plantation picking cotton for him and putting some in his bag. He loved the way her eyes danced as he'd tell her a story to ward off nightmares or pulled faces to make her laugh. He missed her small giggles that brought a hint of sunshine to his dark day.
Pangs of guilt began settling in. He had already begun forgetting the faces of the people he loved. They were gone with the wind. He was never going to see them again. His eyes opened and he felt himself being yanked forward. He grimaced in pain as the rusty chain bruised his neck. He felt like a dog.
Maybe he was an animal.
........
George Turner fixed his eyes on the road. White hatred burned within him like a raging fire. He hated everything about them. From the way they looked and smelled, to the way they behaved. They were bastards. They were nothing in his eyes.
He had grown up with them. They were everywhere, walking around with their heads held high; they thought they were so great. They thought they were better than whites. To tell the truth, they were just like grass to be trampled on.
They were nothing.
George growled and yanked the chain "Move it dog!" He ordered. Axe didn't move.
"Don't stand there!" He barked. "Move!" George pulled the chain and Axe fell to the ground.
George jerked the chain, but Axe refused to budge. He had enough of the torture. He was through with his pitiful existence. The chain was tugged again but he didn't move.
George turned to Axe, his blue eyes darkened, turning to a deep grey colour that sent shivers down Axe's spine.
"Get up!"
Axe coughed, but didn't move. They looked each other eye to eye.
"I said get up!" George bellowed. Axe was not intimidated. George's blood began to boil. Henry winced as his father's fist came in contact with the boy's jaw.
"Father Stop." He called out. George didn't hear him. He gave the boy another blow, and another. His breath was coming out fast and small beads of perspiration emerged on his forehead. He pulled the boy's hair, forced him onto his feet and then gave him another blow to the stomach.
"I'm not a dog." Axe whispered before falling to the ground, with blood running down the side of his mouth.
Henry's eyes widened. George turned to him "What are you staring at?"
Henry turned away. George spat on Axe. "Dog" He muttered.
He hauled Axe by his chains across rugged road back to the plantation he inherited from his father. He wanted to leave him by the side of the road to be trampled on by horses. But he had paid twenty dollars for him, so he couldn't leave him there.
George pulled Axe to his home, leaving him outside, broken and bleeding at the front gate. Henry shook in fear when he saw the looks the other slaves gave him.
"You!" George barked.
A woman carrying some wood jumped in fright. "Take him away." George bent down and whispered in Axes' ear "Dog"
Axe replied "I am not a dog."
George kicked him. The boy would soon learn not to defy him. He spat on him. "You're now one." And with that, he walked away, slamming the door behind him.
"I'm not a dog." Axe murmured as a tear fell.
He felt something soft touch his chair. "Three?" He said in a soft voice. "Is that you?"
He heard a chuckle. "No. I am not Three."
Axe wanted to die.