This is not a twilight fanfiction. In history class, we watched a film called ROOTS. It isn't that well known, and it isn't on the movies list so I just put it under a twilight heading. My homework assignment was to write an account of it, and I got carried away and wrote too much
The film would be on YouTube if you want to see it; it's very upsetting though. The main character is a boy called Kunta Kinte. It is set in West Africa in the past. The time when the English Slave traders were capturing slaves to be sent to America to live as slaves. African villages lived in fear of the "Slavers."
The film concentrates on the days of his childhood, which is shattered when he is captured as a young teenager. My story is about his capture. Hope you enjoy it.
The footprint is clearly etched in the dry soil. We call them Dik-Diks, the little antelopes that prowl obliviously and carelessly around my tribe's territory. And the certain Dik-Dik that I am pursuing will be my family's next meal. My hand tightens around my spear and I wet my dry lips with my tongue. How long has it been since I've had a drink? But going home now is out of the question, as is searching for water. I need to hunt. I picture my mother's expression as I left – it was one of hunger and pain. The pain of the recent loss of her cousin Sooni Baulo to the Slavers I could not diminish but if I was successful in this hunt then maybe one of her troubles could lessen, if only for a short while.
Lost in thought, I've failed to realize what has changed. The sound of the forest has changed. It's much too silent, much too still – almost like there is someone there. Someone who isn't moving - just like me and who isn't breathing - just like me. A man emerges from the thick layers of leaves. But this man is not just like me. I stare at this intruder who is less than two metres away from me. What's wrong with him? His face is the colour of clouds and milk – unnatural, repulsive.
I know what that skin means; the Blank Ones, the Soul Snatchers -- the Slavers. The children call them the Monsters, for they are the ones to be feared. They are the nightmare that is always present. They are the reason for violence in our supposedly peaceful society. They are the ones who stole away the cousin of my mother, Sooni Baulo.
My head quickly snaps to the left at the sound of movement on soil. Another man approaches, not meeting my terrified gaze. His skin is dark and rich, but he is with the Slaver. Betrayal hits me like a hurricane. I abruptly look back to the Soul Snatcher. He has a certain look in his amber eyes that I cannot recognise. It is the same look that a mighty lion gives its prey; a panicked, defenceless zebra before ripping its flesh off. It is the look of triumph.
More of them appear and a tall man tightens his grip on a heavy looking, metal net. I am transfixed on the spot, but as the metal of the net shimmers in the sun, I automatically turn around and I run.
My legs move faster than I would have thought possible, but this is still not fast enough. I emerge out of the dense forest and onto a giant open plain of yellow dirt and my eyes squint against the ever present sun. I hear heavy thuds behind me, feet slapping against hard hot ground. I push my body to move even faster. My muscles are complaining like crazy and as I urge my legs to go faster, I feel their burn. My whole body is burning. The little breath I can take in is coming out in short, wheezing pants. Sweat runs off my forehead like a waterfall and my body feels like it should be blistered and scorched. My throat burns with the lack of water and it is so dry I can barely swallow.
As I see the five, weapon – clad figures emerge over the hill, I know I am going to die. My feet skid to a halt and my head whips wildly around, trying to keep my eyes on every one of them at the same time. My breath is now coming in hysterical gasps. Shamelessly I start to scream into their faces, backing away. I start moving, anywhere away from the impending attackers. The scream that was intended to be strong and clear comes out as a mere croak. I hear the most shocking, heart-crushing sound; a deep laugh. I search for the source, and my eyes meet with eyes that were so dark they seemed out of place on his white skin. His eyes were hard and cold, emotionless. I saw my face reflected back off them; desperate, isolated, petrified. I saw his thin lips curl up in a smile and I stopped moving, if only for half a second. This distraction was all the others needed to attack. And attack they did.
The net is cold and heavy as it falls on top of me and the metal round my wrists is so tight it stops the blood circulation and cuts deep into my skin. As the icy metal of imprisonment surrounds me, I let out a scream of pure misery and terror. A scream for all I have now lost, and all I will never see again. A scream for what awaits me. A scream for the unknown and the terrifying; a scream for the end of my life.