Cara Preston - PhillipsOriginal writing.
Deep in the middle of hot, sunny California, was an old, run down chicken ranch, birds ran around like crazed businessmen on their way to a meeting, the ten acre grounds seem to be endless with tall towering woodland and small flat lakes with pebble beaches. It was quiet except from the sound of children's laughter that could be heard miles over the ranch and surrounding areas, there was also a distinctive smell of the Negro inhabitants working and playing.
A young black boy ran out of the ranch house, down the porch steps and across the dusty dirty ground to the chicken bunker, there he pulled out a small, black, toy pistol, "piaw!" He made the sound of a shot being fired; then a scrawny white boy ran out with his hands in the shape of a gun, he stayed on the porch and screamed, "Bang ha-ha I shot you with a Lugar! Beat that!" the black boy just lay on the floor and pulled a dead face, he couldn't stay dead for long though as he was infused with laughter. The two boys were best friends, completely inseparable, the white boy was named Sam (Or Samuel as his friends dad called him) he dressed like a hobo; his blond hair was scruffy and dripping with sweat where it met his forehead. He was wearing thick blue jeans, not suitable for the heat of mid summer California. He was such a becoming person, never said a bad word about anyone, though if ever asked about his mother, his reply would most definitely start with an "err?" Sam would always hesitate because his mother owned the local cathouse, which at her joy, was not known for its family atmosphere. Girls would come from all over California would come to work for her, as the great depression meant that it was one of the only jobs available. The bar was always packed, so Sam stayed mainly in Matthews's house. His bed was a small, rough, grey blanket and an old, battered, uncovered pillow. Matthew was more 'manly' than Sam, he was fearless; he would jump down from buildings or out of carriages, and wrestle chickens. He was still laughing when his father burst through the front door "Matthew get here!" Matthews's dad nevershouted so he knew that he had to go and see him.
"Yes sir?"
"What's that white boy still doing here?" Matthew didn't know what to say, he knew that his dad didn't like the fact that Sam was white.
"Well he's got no place to go; his mamas pregnant and doe wanna see him, and his poppa died a few months ago" his father looked more sympathetic, he knelt down and sighed.
"I know you is very young, but you know we can't be seen hanging around no white boy. Your old enough to understand this, we is trying to work with the communist party an' create an American Negro Congress; we gotta stop anyone from getting lynched like your grand pappy was"
His fathers words deeply upset Matthew and weighed him down like a kite attached to an anchor; he couldn't believe what he was hearing; Sam was his best friend and he couldn't imagine life without him. He ran out of the ranch and to the field opposite. It was full of corn for the chickens and was so high that Matthew could completely disappear – which was just as he liked it - . There was a small wooden bench in the middle, it was Matthews thinking space, he sat there for ages, crying, with colossal tears flowing down his cheeks, and trying to think of an escape, a decision, a thought sensation. He was so long that he only felt ready enough to re-enter the ranch once the sun had vanished.
His father was such a strong man yet was weakened by the burden he was carrying, Matthew knew to approach with great caution.
"Poppa, what's happened? What's the matter?" his father just sighed, it seemed near impossible for him to get the words out.
"Samuel is gone, I told him that 'e was bad news, he got upset, he took off, I dun think he left the ranch though, I think he ran down to the lake, go an' get him, I needs to apologise, I is sorry boy, I jus' can't have him round her no more." Matthew ran, and ran, he ran till his legs felt numb, he could almost see Sam, a silhouette by the lake, kneeling by the water, when Matthew got there Sam jumped up and hugged him.
"I is sorry 'bout my poppa, he jus' feels deeply 'bout white people, he doesn't want me gettin' hurt, 'cuz I will, when you grow up you gonna realise that black people don't talk to white people don't even look at them else they'll get lynched." Sam was stuck for words he just started walking towards the ranch house.
"I'll go get my things and go home; I'll sleep at mom's bar, I won't speak to you again, you have my word." Matthews heart was breaking, but he knew that deep down his father was right so he started to trudge back towards the house. Suddenly he turned to Sam, with his black gun in his hand "hang on I never gotta get you back!"
"One last game?"