Father.A Story by NathanielAlexanderIt is in days such as this, the limits of human endurance are tested and, as often is the case, men broken, left to rot in the scorching midday heat. Owners such as Joshua Lyle give no thought for the needs of a man, for the lives of his kin, for the breath of his beloved. I would rather spend 60 days in the marsh and swamp, than rot slowly in the realm of his chattel. This hive holds no place for fathers, it slaps away the arm of a man reaching for his new born babe and instead forces iron to the wrist and tools to the palm. How is one to rise up to face such a wretched institution, when the flesh being torn from his father, knelt on all fours like a cowering mule, lies strewn across the ground, only to be washed away when rain grants us reprieve from the horror of life. I must ask the question, what is a man? If not a father, then how is a man made, how would the next generations suckle at the teat of knowledge when all knowledge granted to them by elders is that of subservience and want? I know no men with fathers in this life, I know no men in this life. I know savages, barbaric men who play sport with life and care not for death, I know men bereft of emotion, I know men who long for more. None of whom know what it is to be a truly happy, to live a life where they are loved and love, to share true happiness and merriment with peers whilst raising a brood to mirror and excel in the imagine if their father. I have become sick in the wake days and weeks of spent watching in sickly destain as women are taken into the arms of their overseers and used as playthings for there every whim and returned to their broken families bloodied and shamed. With b*****d children thrust into an existence envied by non and shadowed by a constant hatred fuelled by the yellowed complexion of a skin, not fit to exist in the world of the white and unwelcome in the home of the man in bondage. How can men such as Lyle, preach such hypocrisy as to rule as benevolent masters and fathers, motivated by the needs of their 'children', and proceed to beat, butcher and sell to his hearts content, what real father would splinter his loved ones one day and profess to adore them the next. It is men such as this that hold our nation in a purgatory, we teeter on the precipice of destruction, not through war, of which this country has known it's fair share, but through betraying our right to know that men deserves equal footing in this nation. The fury held within these men, as within myself, could tear down seven plantations. The fury held toward men such as Lyle would see hundreds of heads roll in the sun. But the fury held within our hearts has been subdued, and left as little more than embers, clinging on to a flame once strong. But I would see it dawn again. I have been sent mad by this haven of hatred and can bare it no longer. I write now, as I always have, to detail the wretchedness of this institution, through 26 summers of labour witnessed I have noted no reprieve for the man who toils in the fields, his life balanced on a fine thread waiting to be snapped at any minute. To be bound to an existence on plantations is beyond me now, I must leave, I would take every last man, woman and child with me if I could. But it would not be enough. For our country, our great country, has lead millions on a path across oceans and land, and forced iron to wrist as toy to child. It is why I must leave, why I cannot endure. I have become just as my father, I am not a man. His life defined pain, suffering and death. Mine defined by disgust, acceptance and sorrow. We are the same, father and son bound together as one, but neither as a man. © 2016 NathanielAlexander © 2016 NathanielAlexanderAuthor's Note
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2 Reviews Added on September 6, 2016 Last Updated on September 6, 2016 AuthorNathanielAlexanderNottingham, Nottinghamshire, United KingdomAboutHi guys, I'm Nathaniel Alexander! I'm a 21 year old postgrad student from Nottingham. I've always desperately wanted to write my own short stories and books and have only just got around to producing.. more..Writing
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