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This is the story of a slave boy who would kill to be free.


Submitted:Feb 17, 2007    Reads: 216    Comments: 4    Likes: 0   


� I sat silently waiting. Waiting for 'Him' to come. I sat on the last cellar stair. I heard the foot steps coming. The door cracked open. The light burned my eyes. It had been three days since his last "visit". He grabbed my shoulder and dragged me to the center of the room. He�removed his belt. I heard it whistle as he swung it toward me. It struck my face and arm. Blood began pouring out from below my eye. The scrape on my arm burned when he grabbed it to turn me. He struck me across my back tearing what little cloth remained to hold my shirt together. The rest of my shirt fell�to the floor. I stood knees trmbling, shirtless. I felt the�buckle of the belt hit the back of my head and cried out. Oh no, I thought as his hand hit the side of my head. "Now maybe you'll learn to behave boy!" I had heard this phrase many times before. I listened for the sound of the door shutting. When it did I began to cry silently. Blood was gushing from my left ear, my back, and the spot on the back of my head where the buckle had hit. I picked up a potato sack and chewed holes for my head and arms. It burned as I put it on but it helped to slow my bleeding back. Then I began to work to loosen my brick. I spent all my time loosening that brick. Next time I thought; next time he'll pay. Why did he choose to buy me? I'm not strong. I'm of no use to him. The brick finnaly slipped from its place. I rubbed my finger across the top of the rough piece of stone. I waited three days clutching my brick and chewing the rotten fruit feed to me from a pipe. When the door opened at last I turned toward the light clutching my brick. This time I lifted my arms and heaved my brick.It hit him in the forehead smashing the front of his skull. I took a few steps back and to my left as he�tumbled down the stairs. As he lay motionless on the floor, I took my brick and began beating him. Over and over I lifted my brick and let it drop on his motionless body. The cellar and I were now bathed in blood. I walked up the stairs still clutching my brick; free at last.





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