Thank you to:
- the RL writing challenge buddy who proposed a prompt of writing about someone I consider a hero
- my friends on The Lion's Call who read this over for me and let me know exactly what they thought of it
Hush, dearest one, it will be alright. Long is the day and dark is the night, but take your rest as best you may, that your hope flicker not its ray. Today is gone, today is past, lay down your wearied head at last till a new dawn breaks and with it bring a whole new world on windy wings.
Soft now, little one, and gentle be your stirring. I know it hurts, the bruising, the burning. I fear that a sleep deep and calm remains the only other balm. None so young – nor any old – ought to know of cruelty cold, so cold 'tis also a fire heaped about the innocent's pyre. Alas, 'twould seem our helpless pleas only remind us we're not free.
Heal now, my child, prepare for another day of sweat and toil they little repay. For under their piercing gaze, we must meet the goals they raise lest today happen yet again. What possesses these lording men to think of our people as less, who can venture a guess?
Remember, my darling; your mind turn to the home for which we yearn. We are not from here, you see: our hearts o'er there should ever be, though we here are burdened, bent, here in this land our fathers ne'er went. Perhaps the day will come when we dance to freedom's drum and make our way back there to make a future we can share.
You were too young, my dear, to hold memories of home near. High above was jungle's green, bright the sun on gentle streams. Our cozy little hut of jungle timber cut. Your father tall and strong, in whose arms we belong…. Your brothers too – little rascals they! – but though so young, yet were so brave. But the white man tore us apart – scattering us five, breaking our hearts – and to what end? To force us his fields to tend.
But, my love, there is yet hope – if indeed they rightly quote – though from an unlikely source, considering the white man's course: news they bring of a noble king, far, far across the sea, fighting hard for you and me. They say he made his choice to use his angel voice to make known our unheeded cries and to allow us all to rise. They say he vowed his people's hearts to arouse, their souls awaken toward we the forsaken.
Oh, my sweet one, just imagine! Imagine our people freed by this captain! Victorious he'll rise, our freedom his prize. Tireless, he battles on, singing his passionate song. Like the first star of night, like the dawning light, he'll come to our aid. Till then, we must pray that this whisper of the breeze becomes the roar of the sea, that these rumours of hope may be our swift and soon reality.
My beloved daughter, may my dream for you become a dream come true. You will one day be free to live and have a family without the whip, without the lash, far from an angry master's thrash. The land you sow will be your own, the harvest you reap for you to keep. Be patient and bear their hate till we no longer wait: he will come to save those the rest call slaves all in due course. Wait, Amadi, for King Wilberforce.
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