This is a story I had to write for my English class some time ago. I had to shorten it a bit, because it was far too long to give to the teacher., but I still rather like it. The teacher said that if I had written this, my English is better than his. That's a great praise for me, since he's a native speaker and I'm not, but he probably thinks I downloaded the stort from the internet (damn >:( )
On another note, I'm starting to feel a bit ill (double damn >>:( ) I really hope it won't get worse (or not...it would be nice to stay home and relax a bit ) Thankfully, all exams are finished, just biology left for tommorow, but it shouldn't be THAT difficult.
The Story of a Runaway Slave
I sit here, in front of my house, overlooking the rolling fields that stretch far to the horizon, and for the first time in many years, I see them. Not "see" in the common sense, but see in the meaning, that I finally realize their beauty without the reminders of what once was.
You ask me what is it that I am babbling about?
Well child, maybe I should start from the beginning.
***
My story –at least, the one you want to hear- began on the night from the 15th to 16th of September 1836, in the state of South Carolina.
I remember it as clearly as if it happened just yesterday.
That night, the river that was near our plantation –the Santee River it was called- overflowed, and the great flood hit the Slave quarters where we were sleeping. It hit us unprepared, and before we realized what was happening, there was water everywhere.
All around me, people were panicking, but thankfully, as I was trying to get out of harm’s way, I ran into a good friend of mine. Tim was his name, and he was one of the bravest men I’ve ever had the chance to know.
He pulled me back, away from the chaos, and looked me in the eye.
“ ’m only doin’ this for ya because you’re ma’ friend, Ben”, he said.
I didn’t understand what he was talking about at first, but silently beckoned him to continue.
He looked around suspiciously, and when he was satisfied that no one was listening to us, he continued in a lowered voice:
“Me and John...you know him, don’t ya? We’re runnin’ away. Right now, it’s a perfect chance. Ya commin’ with us?”
I stared at the man in wonder. I’ve known him for so long, and yet, not once had he mentioned anything about an escape plan. At that moment I was thrilled, yet also scared. My mind ran through all the outcomes this situation could result in.
Most of them were not pleasant,
“Where will you go?” I asked. “Have you not heard of the bounty hunters? They make a living of capturing runaway slaves! They will…”
But he was faster, covering my mouth to silence me, and continuing in his urgent whispering:
“Yes, I‘ve heard, but I‘ve also heard ‘bout the Underground Railroad! They say that runaways should look for quilts hanged on fences. Certain’ patterns will tell ya where to go, and who to ask for help!
But ya have to decide now, we don’t have much time.”
I’ve never really believed the old women’s talk about “The Railroad”, but I would’ve trusted Tim with my life, so with a muffled sigh, I nodded and, satisfied with my choice, he let go of me.
“Come,” he said shortly, and as determined as I was (if slightly hesistant) I followed him without a word. He led me swiftly around the center of the camp where most of the overseers were situated, and deeper into the undergrowth, until I all of a sudden realized that we were standing at the edge of a forest.
A birdcall was heard and Tim’s head snapped up. I tensed and clenched my hands, ready to fight, when without any further warning, a dark figure dropped from the trees above us and landed right in front of me. I jumped back, but relaxed almost immediately as I recognized the figure as John, the man we were supposed to meet. His dark, narrow eyes studied me critically for a moment and then, with a small nod in my direction, he backed away and beckoned us both to follow him.
And that was how we set out.
We made our way north, and covered great distances at night, while we rested in hiding during day. As I soon found out, John was a man of few words and could turn silence into an art form, but during our resting hours, I slowly got him to uncover their plan to me. According to him, we were currently heading to North Carolina. There, he knew of a place where The Underground Caravan sometimes stopped. If we were lucky, it would take us further north, hopefully straight to The Great Lakes.
Our journey continued, and it was wearing all of us down so much, that I no longer registered the passing of hours. Even days flew by in a haze of continuous walking and hiding.
In my foggy state of mind, I grew careless and, as a result, paid dearly for it. When we were walking along the edge of a steep hill, my foot slipped, and, falling, I rolled down the hill bruising my ribs and tearing a deep wound down my leg in the process.
I cursed myself for my carelessness even as Tim and John bound my leg and torso tightly, for the wounds were painful and my leg bled profusely.
We continued on for a few days, but before long, my leg became infected and I was seriously hindering our progress. Yet we still journeyed on, my mind slowly but surely growing hazier, and I absentmindedly wondered if they would leave me in this wasteland to my death if it became worse.
It continued in this way, until one day I fell and could move no more.
***
Even now, as hard as I try to remember what happened after that, I can find no memories of the event that followed. From what Tim and John told me after our escape, we made our way to the lone cabin where the caravan was supposed to stop. We waited there for days, and my friends grew more and more worried, since my fever has yet to subside, and I was growing weaker every day.
I was on the verge of dying and they were losing hope, when a miracle happened.
The caravan finally came.
***
When I regained consciousness once again, it was to the feeling of hard wood digging into my back and sound of chatter, horse hooves and soft creaking of well-oiled wheels.
Slowly, I opened my eyes, squinting against the harsh sunlight, until the brightness adjusted to a more bearable level and I noticed two figures hunched over something at the other side of the caravan that I just realized I was in. At the sound of me shifting around, they both turned and only then did I recognize them as Tim and John. Their faces broke into wide grins at the sight of me awake, and we stared at each other for a while, until Tim broke the spell and jumped closer, pulling me into a fierce hug.
John soon joined us and only as we settled down did they both begin to explain what happened.
After everything was unraveled, I all of a sudden realized what our presence in this caravan meant.
What we longed for all these years in our enslavement, has come true.
We were free.
***
And this is how the story ends.
I made my recovery, and when the caravan arrived in Canada, we started a new life, this time as full fledged citizens.
And this is how I find myself here. Long years have passed since this happened, but I still consider it as the most important thing I did in my life.
Thanks to a simple decision to trust my friends in time of peril, I regained what should have never been lost.
I tasted freedom again.
curious
giddy
okay
crappy
rushed
artistic