Shackled to Death

The following short story is entirely my class work. I encourage you to comment but please be respectful. If you don't like my story that's completely ok. This story is a work of fiction,prompted by my History teacher. 

Copyright © 2015 by Mickaylia Walker
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                                           History Essay

POV of a captured slave.....

The echoes of metal at our feet became a constant reminder of our terrible fortune. My heart hammered in my constricted rib cage at the sight before me. one by one various tribe members consumed with pride and grief toppled over and sank at the depths of the sea.

Fear froze me to the core, the steady rhythm of the cannibal with whispers of the water churned my stomach, but I quelled the urge to vomit. The wood beneath my feet allowed the reality to sink in. As the white man barked unknown orders, I admired my homeland probably for the last time. My past life the very thing I took for granted everyday.

The illuminated orb, which poured forth abundant sunlight on the lush evergreen trees and plants. And the breath of my very ancestors cried in the distance as I marched into the pitch black abyss towards my death. The clank of metal, the eerie creek of the wooden trap door and the darkness heightened my fear. The sheer panic threatened to consume me. All senses came alive as if awaken from a deep slumber and the will to survive was a force to be reckoned with.

The first few weeks drove me into a corner of pure isolation. My limbs went numb and the overbearing stench of blood, urine and my own feces burned my nostrils with shame. A people of great treasure and prestige reduce to filthy pigs. In the next weeks immense change occurred we bonded as one united people through grief, pain and anger, as well as songs which conveyed a deeper meaning only we knew of.

The shortage of food and water fuelled my anger through vengeance. Not to mention the multiple cries of innocent doves drained of their pride by lust hound predators, who came out of the shadows of night. Whilst, laying right next them, strained from helping. As if shacking us to death was not enough. My body may never know the taste of freedom so sweet. Chances are I will not make it and my loved ones will never know how much my heartache for their love and affection.

But at last, the Middle Passage, I had survived hanging on by a thread. As the sunlight greeted me, I knew with sheer conviction the torture was not over.

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