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Fifty years

Prolouge

Author: Amberlyn Emmanuel
"publish date: " 2020-09-10 16:12:09

in an era of time where slavery was an approved trade, Naomi and her family were constrained to the Stanley's family, noble, respected. That is, until the fiftieth year. The fiftieth year was symbolic for freedom and every slave was free to leave if they wanted. 

But can Naomi and her family last till that year without things changing drastically.

She tells her story, from some time where things took a different turn from the normalcy of her life. 22years into the fifty years, 8 years to the fiftieth year.

I was running, hard. My feet crunched heavily into the snow as I maneuvered my way around the trees, clothed now in snow. I made a pause to catch my breath, Abigail had gotten it into her fair head to chase me around the forest and had instigated the snow ball fight. I let out a breathy laugh, puff of vapour billowing around my face, I couldn't say I didn't enjoy the freedom, I just needed to catch my breath.

I stood up straight from my bended position and looked around me, my lips tugging into a smile once I realized what part of the forest my feet had subconsciously brought me to. It was my favourite place in the forest and it was no wonder my feet remembered the very pattern of the forest that led here.

I remember the first time I came here, I had stumbled upon it on one of my breaks, what a place it had been and still is, it was as if the place was frozen In time and it gave one a surreal and kind of detached feeling. Even the deer were ever present, I smiled at them now and they were not scared of me, they watched me with deep brown eyes as they moved majestically across the frozen Land. That day, when I first saw this place, I received a whipping once I got back for spending some extra 45 minutes outside my break but it was worth the flogging to have spent some extra stolen 45 minutes in a place like this. 

I heard a noise behind me and I smiled, thinking Abigail had finally caught up with me. I bent down slowly and scooped a handfull of snow into my woolen palm. Molding it, I straightened up, spun around and threw the ball at her, laughing all the while. But when no returning giggle was echoed, I paused, my laughter caught in my throat. The tears that had sprung from my eyes from glee had already dried from Winter's cold fingers and i could see the person clearly.

Fear gripped me and I could not speak nor utter a sound, I moved an involuntary step back. It was no Abigail I had hit but a stranger. Much worse, I had hit a man.

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Fifty years    Chapter Eleven

Days past, four months was drawing near and summer was here. Which meant traveling was a lot easier than in winter.If hadn't mentioned it before, the Stanley had a large plantation of grains, but not only that, they also cultivated cotton. Summer also meant harvest and so many of my days were taken up in either of the fields. This certainly explained why the Stanley's and others like them, felt the need to buy a lot of slaves. But i didn't know how i felt about that now; if u blacks were meant to work in the fields and houses as servants and do other strenuous works, why then had the Stanley father and son, and mother of course, chosen me as an abigail for their Abigail?The sun beat down on us, soaking into my dress and heating up the threads that made up my cotton dress. Was i getting more brown? I always had a light skin completion which had mayhap gotten lighter before from frequently staying in doors more

Fifty years   Chapter Ten

I must include, though, that this part of my life i am about to recount is of some shame to me. Of course i had not been born with a fountain of wisdom but i had acted imprudently in the situation.When i arrived, i, instead of going to Abigail's room to give her the flowers- of whence i had been originally headed to until i heard voices in the drawing room, crept in that direction. 'Darling, i believe we've talked about this before, Abigail is of age now to be courted', i heard Mr Stanley Jr say. 'I know, i know John'. Mrs Stanley assured. 'But you promised she could be given the chance to court the city gentlemen'.'Darling' Mr Stanley said, 'John and i talked about it. How do you think of Abigail going to stay London, say in about four month's time'?'What! So soon? I'd have to send a telegraph to my father. She would stay with my father won't she'?'Yes we were pending on that'. I gasped. Pending on it? They wanted

Fifty years   Chapter Nine

Chapter NineCome on Abigail, why are you dawdling'?'I'm not '!'Yes you are''Are not'! 'Are too'!'Are not'!'Are too'! Abigail opened her mouth to respond and i quickly injected in. 'Look, you're doing just that by sitting down there and arguing with me. Now we really do need to go, Mrs Stanley needs-''I know, i know, but i don't feel like shopping' she flopped back on her bed, lying on her back with her arms spread up.'Why ever not'? I sat by the edge and played with the skirt of her gown. 'It's always so rowdy with people every where-' 'But that's your elements'!'And the place carries and awful odour''Ahh, so it's the smell', she wrinkled her nose up in the air.'You could just endure it a little, couldn't you? And anyway, we're not going to the worst parts of the market'. 'Yes we are, you know we are' she harried. 'There'd

Fifty years   Chapter Eight

Six years in the fifty years, two years to the fifthiet yearWhen i was a child, my mama used to sing me a poem when i woke up from the nightmares. She'd wipe my sweat and brush away the hair sticking to my face. These hands have subdued stubborn junglesunmasked fertile grovesand plumbed the seedful promiseof loamy plainsThe handscalloused like a tortoise shellhave tended tendrils, joyous,in their leafy danceon the spine of stakeshoed heaps cleanunearthed the venom of wayward weed-she'd pull my hair playfully and smile down on my giggling face-These palmshave lost their linesto the mahogany handleof a thousand machetesthe finger crooked by constant clutching-'like you know who', she wiggled her brows at me and i laughed, 'daddy'.'Ahh you said it not me'-These hands have crad

Fifty years   Chapter Eight

Six years in the fifty years, two years to the fifthiet yearWhen i was a child, my mama used to sing me a poem when i woke up from the nightmares. She'd wipe my sweat and brush away the hair sticking to my face. These hands have subdued stubborn junglesunmasked fertile grovesand plumbed the seedful promiseof loamy plainsThe handscalloused like a tortoise shellhave tended tendrils, joyous,in their leafy danceon the spine of stakeshoed heaps cleanunearthed the venom of wayward weed-she'd pull my hair playfully and smile down on my giggling face-These palmshave lost their linesto the mahogany handleof a thousand machetesthe finger crooked by constant clutching-'like you know who', she wiggled her brows at me and i laughed, 'daddy'.'Ahh you said it not me'-These hands ha

Fifty years    Chapter seven

I had learnt a long time ago that the world didn't work as one planned and the orange wasn't ever shared equally. One year back, I used to have this nightmares when i was younger, and then i had it again, four years after i had first been assigned as Abigail's hand maid. It was almost always the same scenery; i was on a boat or a ship because the ground swayed. Voices bounced around and above me and sometimes it blended with the hum of the ocean. I was in a dark room along with others, although i could not see them, i heard them, shuffling, coughing, children crying and sometimes hums that turned to singing. Foot steps echoed above us as the person pounded down the stairs. I was singing softly along with the crowd which were already quietening. 'Who said ye baboons were allowed to sing' . His booming voice hollered across the room. He stepped threateningly towards me, i could see his

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