Chapter 1
Felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders
Should I break or retreat and then return
Facing the fear that the truth, I discover
No telling how, all these will work out
But I've come too far to go back now.
The heat washing Django's back caused him to sweat, and made everything around him out of focus. It was hard, trying to keep his breath steady but he did it, either way, aware of all the cruel white men staring at him in amusement, their yellow teeth exposed as they smiled in such a way that made Django's stomach turn. There was no future for him, no hope. His freedom, which was the biggest treasure a man could possess was taken away from him, together with all the fire of his being, the fire that kept him going forward, or trying. He had tried to run away, more than once. The scars on his back proved that.
- Hear 'bout the nigga 'gurl Carrucan got? Some sayin' the bitch speaks German. - He heard one of the men speak, after spitting on the ground, a very uncomfortable habit. What he said caught Django's attention, but he didn't look away from the cotton he was working on. There were severe punishments for slaves that took breaks.
- The Hilly one? Ain't she the one gettin' here today?
Before Carl, short and stupid, could answer his question, Adeline, a fat and middle-aged black woman appeared in a white dress, and careful not to touch any of them, said quietly, and submissively:
- Sir Carrucan askin' for you, he sayin' Lydia need to get "whip"d.
Carl and Smitt glanced at each other, smirking slightly, and Django felt his insides twist again. It took him everything not to kill them right there and then with his own hands. But he had never killed anyone and they weren't gonna be the first ones. Not worth it.
A few minutes later, he looked up at the sky, noticing how everything was suddenly devoid of sound, and he knew immediately what was coming. He shut his eyes, as did some other slaves around him, shuddering when a woman's piercing scream echoed through the cotton-field.
Broomhilda looked beautiful in her white dress, hair curled up softly in dark waves. The dress contrasted with her chocolate skin, making it glow considerably. She looked appropriately beautiful, as supposed to, since her old owner had told the buyer that she was "pretty". It was expected that she at least looked more than presentable to her new owner, for she knew what would happen if she wasn't up to his expectations. Hester Sue, a slim, black woman not much older than 21 years old, fixed Hilda's dress, looking at her reflection lovingly.
- Imma miss you, 'gurl. You take care out there. Don't do nothin' that gonna get you in trouble.
She nodded as if she was paying attention, but all she had in mind was the idea of new chains around, not her body, but her soul.
With a kiss on the cheek, Hester Sue leaded Hilde out of the door, toward Bobby, the skinny, dirty blonde haired man that worked with the chickens. Or if you will, supervised the slaves that worked with the chickens, just waiting for an opportunity to snap his whip on their backs, no pun intended. Careful not to mess up Hilde's shoes with the mud, Bobby lifted her up, placing her on the brown horse, making sure to run his hands through her body before letting her go. He spoke to her, and although she could not understand what he said - the man spoke as if he had just drank 10 bottles of tall beer - she knew it wasn't pleasant.
No one in the farm was happy about seeing a nigga on a horse, but she had no other choice, for she had to arrive at her new owner's farm looking shiny as a new penny. She felt uncomfortable on top of such a big creature, she had never even rode a horse in her life before, but she knew Bobby didn't give a damn about her fear. It would probably give him a few good laughs to see her fall, but she doubted he would let it happen. He couldn't let the mud mess up a slave's look, not one that was considered "pretty", at least. So he would have to leave it to some other time.
She grabbed the horse's strap, holding on to it with her dear life, as Bobby rode his own horse, causing the one she sat on top of to walk behind him. She took a few breathes, and forced herself not to look down, or back. She knew it wasn't for fear of falling as much as it was the fear of seeing the path she was leaving behind, the path that mocked her, telling her there was a new type of suffering ahead of her. In a few hours trip, she would meet her new master, and would know what she'd be dealing with. God only knew how scared she was.