Chains Are Not Forever

The cloth around my neck provides little shelter from the scorching sun. The rhythmic, almost wave-like rocking of the horse and the dry dirty taste of the air is all too familiar. It’s been days since the tracks have appeared. Without them I am lost. I can’t face my white masters without the herd. I’ll be killed on sight. It’s not an option, I need these damned animals. I look for another fifteen minutes before I find a stream. A wave of relief engulfs me. After dismounting I make my way to the river, feeling the crunch of rocks and fallen branches under my make shift shoes. I bend down and begin to fill my canteen; the cool water passing over my hand is soothing after days of riding.

I dunk my head to cool down, as I raise I look down to see a distorted figure, not because of the current but because of what I have become. I was once respected and loved. I was the foundation of a family, a husband, a father, and what am I now. Now I am but a slave, no name just a number. To them, I am but an animal. I look deeper to find traces of my past self, memories, thoughts, people, just something to remind me I am human. As I look I remember the night all this was taken from me. The horses, the gun fire, the screams and the chains. It all happened so quickly, there is nothing I could have done. I reassure myself to keep guilt from overwhelming me. The guilt is quickly replaced with anger as I think of the screams of the wives and children. The wrath of my ancestors fills me to the brink. I stand up and know my destiny. My goal is burnt into my brain. I am a man on a mission, driven the by the fury of my ancestors, fuelled by pride and the idea of taking revenge on those who wronged me and my people.

I rid myself of all belongings the white man have given me, leaving only the knife I had stolen.  I must purge myself of the evil that has overcome me. With that I mount my horse and take off back to the settlement. Throughout the entire ride back the screams of that night fill my head and tears fill my eyes. I must do to them what they did to me, but I cannot do it alone, I must free my brothers. I ride for days and every night I stare at the stars foretelling what is to come, the blood that will be spilled.  Occasionally my conscience would rear its head but quickly be dispelled by the pain and suffering I have felt. Not just from that night, the numerous beatings and lashings the starving most nights and the verbal abuse. As I see the settlement on the horizon on the last day of riding I set up camp, overlooking the town. Knowing what is to come, the streets will feel a torrent of blood. Mercy will be no where to be seen. Mercy is only given to those deserving few. This town is not one of them.

As I prod the fire, I scan the town. My eyes as sharp as an eagle, scanning as if looking for prey. I see the children playing in the street, the wives preparing meals and the men getting drunk in the local watering hole. It’s the same every day. Their lifestyle is simple, repetitive and almost primitive. In saying that I realise how truly primitive I was. That was not my destiny, my fate is to cleanse my land and fulfil my ancestors’ bloodlust of the white man. I will tear there parasitic plague from my land, I will ride alongside the spirits of death in my campaign of righteous vengeance. And with this campaign they will feel my full wrath and the wrath of my people and they will cower to the mistaken safety of their cursed homes. I will feel no mercy, no remorse, just the blood of my ancestors in my heart and the blood of this plague on my knife.

As night falls I slide my knife over the sharpening block. I look upon my arms and see the ink cast upon my skin by the elder of the Djungun. The snake formed of black ink upon my arms swirls up my arm. This is the symbol of my bloodline.  This is the symbol of my life and of my fate.  The smell of fresh bread fills my nostrils as the baker on the outskirts of towns putting out fresh bread for tonight’s supper. I slip my knife back into my makeshift belt and begin walking to the small prison-like reservation on the other side of town. As I come to the main road I cross to the outskirts of town and slip down an alley way to stay in the back streets and avoid detection. I’m moving without sound, with shadows on my side and a knife on my hip. I check every alley before I cross making sure I am not spotted. As I cross the last alley I hear a hoarse voice call out Oi boy! I freeze. Again I hear the voice Listen to me you filthy ape. With that I begin to turn I feel him grab me. Before I have time to react I am thrown to the ground. I look up to see a drunken officer, one hand in a fist and one hand on a bottle. We stare for what seems like hours until he finally makes a move. He raises his fist and throws a punch. Before the impact I draw my knife to defend, I raise it to his fist as his fist closes I level my knife with his fist. It slides in between his first and second knuckles. I spring to my feet, grabbing the bottle on my way to my feet and silence the screams with my hand. I break the bottle on a nearby wall to expose the razor sharp shards of glass and thrust it into my attacker’s neck. The warm blood rolls over my fingers. I feel his body go limp and I let go. His lifeless body falls to the ground, covering the nearby dirt crimson red. I do not flinch, or blink, or move. I just look into his lifeless eyes; this only reassures my mission. I bend down to retrieve my knife. Wiping the blood onto the man’s trousers, I get up and continue on. As I am walking I see the camp, the large fence and my tribesmen chained to their cell. Only one guard on duty, so he must hold the keys I think to myself. As I reach the opening of the camp I sit and wait, for the right moment for the guard to leave so I can slip through. After an hour or so he eventually needs to relieve himself. He walks to the outhouse. I begin to follow him, knife drawn. As I turn the corner I see the man, leant over the toilet. I tip toe not making any noise until I am right behind him. Once I am right behind him, I stand flat footed.  As I put my knife to his throat and cover his mouth I whisper over the muffled cries for mercy this is for my people. With one motion I plunge my knife into his spine. As he falls I begin to search through his things until I finally find the keys. I slip my knife back into its sheath and begin walking to the cages.

As I feel the crunch of rocks on my feet, I see the faces of my people; light up like a summer’s sunrise. They stare, not a word in their mouth, just happiness in their face. I walk over and to unlock the first cage. As it opens I’m greeted with hugs and tears of joy. This seems customary from every person saved. As I reach the women’s cage I instruct them to run, they do not need to see what is about to happen. I take the men to the outskirts of town without getting spotted, as I reach my camp I stand upon a stump.

“Come my tribe’s men; hear not my voice but the voice of those before us. I am but a vessel, chosen by the spirits to cleanse this ground. We have been slaves for long enough. We have been whipped, flogged, branded, abused, starved and brought to our knees long enough. We will not bow our heads in shame any more. We will take back what is ours and destroy all those who oppose in this plague of white men. The streets will run red with their blood and their screams will shatter the air. Their eyes will become lifeless as we take what they are un deserving of the most, their lives. We will feel no regret, no remorse just the spirit of vengeance in our heart and their blood upon our knives. We will no longer be judged and ridiculed but yet be the judge of who lives and who dies. These parasites will go to sleep tonight and few will wake, and those who do will only wake to be passed judgement on. Not on whether they will live or die. But rather how they will be destroyed.  By stepping onto this land and trying to take what is rightfully ours they have awoken a beast. A beast fuelled by wrath and fury and created by our hatred of this plague. A beast, that sits upon a throne of bone and blood. With an insatiable bloodlust for those who disturb it. This beast does not have a conscious just the will to kill, the will to dismember and the will to cause pain and suffering where needed. And tonight my brother this beast controls us. Do not fight him let him engulf you. Let his fury overcome you. He is our forerunner tonight. So come my brothers let us take this beast and rain down judgement upon these scum, for our pride, our honour, our children and wives. Make this for them. One night of devastation will result in a lifetime of peace. And tonight is that night”.

The men stand and prepare themselves. The recent propaganda has given these men the drive, the will and the anger to take back what is theirs. Shedding themselves of all white possessions and belongings even though few, they line themselves up at the edge of town, listening to the eerie silence. They begin marching. In this rebellion I am the arrowhead. As we meet the main street I command men to sweep through the houses. As the first men begin to cleanse the land blood curdling screams pierce my ears. I see men rush from their houses, gun drawn. My people take cover, some in the butchers and some in the bakery across the street. I can hear the bullets volleying above my head. At the cease in fire the men attack. I see the blood spilling and a wave of conscious regret overcomes me. The screams begin to terrorise me. I hide, I feel their pain as more and more lives are taken. I cover my ears, only muffling the cries for mercy. I can’t watch this chaos. After what seems like eternity. I hear a voice. Calling my name, as I exit the building I see my white master and his family, arms bound and on their knees on the main street. My tribesmen hand me a spear. I know what they are asking for, they are asking for blood. I line it up with the man’s heart and thrust. As the spear soars towards his heart my hand freezes. I drop the spear, look into the man’s eyes and begin to untie the man. As I’m untying the man I hear the mumbling of confusion.

Out of the mumbling comes, with the voice of war cries, Traitor!! As I come face to face with my people I feel a push. Followed by warm liquid running down my chest, as I look down at the blood on my stomach, I feel weak. I look up with confusion. The man has no expression. Just a blank face no remorse, just nothing. My legs begin to feel weak. My lungs feel empty. I can’t breathe I fall to the ground. As I turn my head I see the family fall one by one. I realise this is because of me. I realise that I have cause all of this, the pain and suffering I have caused, and now I am just as bad. This will not change a thing. This is an empty battle; the only substance is pain and suffering. Revenge is imminent and I have caused this upon my people. I am a disgrace, to my people and to my ancestors. Now I am but a body, colouring the dirt with the essence of my life.

Author's Note

och

Reviews

[Bee]

Just read your piece.Wow! It flows so well & you set the scene very well. I could picture myself there. Love it:)