Passin' Through Purgatory by Realist101 Flash Fiction Writing Contest contest entry |
Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong language.
The smell o' co'nbread s'rounded the houst, and I a'most knocked on the do'. But beggin' weren't my style--so I held back; I wuz needin' ta find a safe house. They's callin' it a rail-road, but I ain't seen no trains so fer. They says to look fer a rag on a corn stalk, but ain't none 'round this fine house.
They was peaches a'growin' though, yonder by an empty field. Mos still green, but I hunkered down round back'a tha tree trunk 'n plucked one that had a tinge of red. That's when I seen two chillun's ... 'bout the same time they spied me. Afore I knowed it, I was converged on, by both of 'em. Chillun of rich white folk, standin' before me, all bug-eyed, curious. But they was somethin' lackin' too. They's eyes looked empty out beyond the curiosity. My skin crawled. I should'a never come to this place. I weren't sure it wuz the right house. "Who are you, mister? What's your name?" The older chil, a girl what looked like a angel spoke to me, like she was the adult, and me the youngin'. "Yeah, and how come you're trespassing anyway?" Her little brother spoke, his voice old, older'n his few years ... 'n it rang holler too. "Where you from? Are you a slave? Or convict." The girl weren't axtin'. I wuz bein' 'cused. I chewed slow and easy on tha peach. It never paid to run too quixt. I had ta talk my way outta this'un here. "Why, no youngin's. I's from the delegates office. Up in 'Lanta." I chewed harder then, for emphasis. "Delegates office? What's that?" They ast me both at onc't. They could have made a wish. But I dind't say. "Why--it's where law's is made. Where's stuff gets decided on." The peach was almost gone ... I'd have to put on'a real show now. "What kinds of laws, mister?" The girl was frowning good. Trying to figure me. "And where's them offices at in Atlanta? Bet they're really in the state pen, or you're a runaway." "Shut up, Billy Sue--let him talk." But Billy Sue kep' on frownin'. She was mighty dubious. I forced myself to stare back in'ta her clear blue eyes. "Them offices is in the fancy buildings. In the middle of the town. Right smack dab in the center of ever thing." I was gettin' in deeper'n deeper now. "You live in town then? How come you're way out here. So far from your fancy offices?" More frowns, more suspicion. I needed to leave. "Well, ya see's, I'm ... I'm doin' what's called research. That's right. Research." One lie always leads to another. But I wuz surely too far out in the quicksand now. "Research of what? What are you lookin' for?" My brain stopped right there. All I could do was grab up another peach. This one was swarmin' with worms and and yella wasps. I pitched it out in'ta the weeds. Out where I needed ta be gittin'. "Well, I's searchin' for some justice." "What's justice mean, mister?" "Yeah, what's that anyway?" The chillun's both talked better'n me. I knew they knew the answers befo they even ast 'em. But I'd started the game, 'n had ta try'n finish it. A dinner bell clanked a'sudden, 'n I pert near jumped out'ta my drawers. I had to git. And fast. There weren't a rag hangin' anywhere's. "Listen here, youngin's, I's got me a meetin', see. I needs the strength to walk all that way back. You'in's reckon you could see fit to share me some'a yo momma's cornbread? I's not askin' fer much. An' sure's don't aim to cause no trouble, but I sure is hongry." Billy Sue smirked 'n kicked at'a mayapple that was in her way. Her little brother stood, like sum sort'ta statue. Sumthin' carved out'ta stone. They looked at me hard, the curiosity replaced by loathin'. "But you're just a nigger. We can't feed a nigger. Don't matter how important you may be. Momma won't allow it." The clear blue eyes bored through me like knives. I eased toward's the woods, 'n told 'em I was sure sorry for trespassin'. They's souls hadn't never found feelin's. They'd learned well, just how to keep it away's. "I bes' be goin'. Thank'ee both fer the fruits." I walked slow 'n deliberate ... . They was no answer. I slunk into the thicket, tryin' hard to be a ghost. But my ebony hide would't let me. I heard 'em run off'ta they's house. The big white house surrounded with white warshed fences, and high-steppin' hosses grazin'. Then frantic voices and sum ol' dog a bawlin'. An' I run on out ... aways. Through two hundred years of cotton fields.
|
| ©
Copyright 2024.
Realist101
All rights reserved. Realist101 has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |