When We Were Free
“Do you remember when we were free?”
The words rang in my memory. My eyes were already wet with tears, I had been working non-stop for days. I was being driven as a slave. No one cared, no one helped, all they wanted was someone to do their work for them. Someone like me, a slave, a girl they kidnapped from a poor family.
I sighed and tried to rest before the morning light peeked through the darkened sky. I tossed and turned on the small cot I laid on. My mind was swirling with thoughts. Unanswered cries filled my heart as hatred started to build in my thoughts. Hate against these people who ripped me away from my life, from my family, from my future.
More tears slipped to the small, raggedy pillow under my head. I turned again on the cot, trying to quell the hateful thoughts that now took over.
I closed my tired eyes, forcing myself to think of when I was free. A young girl asked that dreaded question. The one that never left my mind, the one that now burned like a wildfire inside me. Yes, I remembered when we were free. I remembered the joyful, fun, care-free days. I remembered the fun-filled memories made with my family.
I sucked in a deep breath, holding a sob that threatened to break through my throat. My mother had taught me to love anyone and everyone. I pushed the hateful feelings deep inside, far where I knew they would never surface again. A pain-filled thought crept through my mind, one that made me cry harder. I slowly relaxed myself, trying to remain calm. My tears subsided, my sadness still lingered nearby my mind. Yet, my grief and heart-ache were still stronger than ever. I whispered, before allowing myself to sleep, "Yes, I remember when we were free." I answered the question that had been burning in my mind for so long.
Another whisper came from someone near me, one in reply. "We will be free, one day we will again feel freedom. Others will be free because of what we did. We will work so others may have freedom." The final words slowly faded in the darkness.