Have any of you ever thought of what life would be like for the slave other than it was unfair? Let me tell you something: unfair is a complete understatement of the strange and terrible life I was forced to cope with in this strange and “promising” New World. I was young and with dreams and goals to pursue in my homeland, and all that was there for me suddenly vanished as I was sold to a white man thousands of miles away. From that moment forth, I had no friends, I had no family, I had no joy. On this strange, oppressive new land I was lost and weak.
Being stuck in that rundown, disease-ridden ship across the Atlantic was undoubtedly the most scarring of my experiences. There was nothing I could do but lay down in my shelf and stare in agonizing disbelief as my fellow hostages underwent terrible illness and even suicides. Too much disease and death in one condensed area is a burden that can’t be unseen no matter how hard anyone would try.
Regardless of each captive’s destination, the outcome was equally cruel. Some were shipped to tropical islands away from mainland, and others were stuck on the vast continental chunk. As for me, I was sent to the land the white man called Virginia. The place was full of white men and women, much like the ones that purchased me and dragged me over here. As I was sent to my assigned area (I believe they called it a plantation) I noticed that other captives were there working and tending to fields for long before I was forced here. To think that a group of captives that is seemingly very large in number was trapped and oppressed by the few masters of lighter skin for years already was nothing short of a shocking bad omen.
Decades have passed, along with dignity and happiness. Every night, I lose sleep and succumb to the sting from the blooded lashes on my back and the guilt and pain from my master’s initials burned into my chest. I wasn’t a mere worker; I was a tool, a piece of property, and a plaything. I couldn’t take this any longer. I would’ve been a dead man long ago had I chose to defy my captor, and I am a fool now for being a pushover for so long. Unexpectedly came talk amongst the white man about independence. Were the white men really deciding to rebel against their masters? I found the situation to be motivating although extremely ironic….
Wait a minute! I have yearned for too long to liberate myself from the “Americans” and now they boldly wish to free themselves from their mother Britain. Finally, a golden opportunity has come my way, but what path do I choose? There is a chance, if any, with either side that I may be free once and for all. If I side with the so-called “Patriots,” they might recognize my noble effort in helping them be free, so they would return the favor by freeing me as well, right? They might lose in their effort to fight and rebel, though, and I don’t want to suffer the consequences of defeat and either remain a slave or become a corpse. The “Loyalists” and British have a good chance of winning their battles, and they may reward me with freedom for fighting for their cause. Both sides are tempting, but I have no idea which one will actually help me with my goal.
I have to take this chance! I need to make a choice! No longer will I be the white man’s plaything, a shell of a man bound in shackles! This is my shot for freedom, and in the midst of the white man’s war I will be liberated!