Passage to Hell

A journey told by a young child about the torture and death he/she indured as her village was taken into slavery by the British.

 

I never knew that one day my life would change so drastically. That the sun would never shine as brightly, or that I actually came to hate it.

No one had expected them; none of us even knew they existed…until they came.

They were monsters with voices that spoke strange words. Whose weapons seared the skin and left gapping wounds in those who were dead.

Why are they here? Why are they so mad at us? I clung to my mother as my Father stood his ground. He tried to fight back, but fell dead when they sliced him through the middle, spilling his blood onto the ground. 

Yanked forcefully from my mother I screamed out in terror. Pleading arms stretched out to reach me as they dragged me away.

They beat her, my mother, did you know? They beat her with eyes that laughed. Eyes that showed no mercy, eyes that were evil.

The ropes were rough, and rubbed my skin raw. Did I tell you she survived her beating?  They tied me to my mother. She was so weak. I was afraid she would faint. I prayed to the mighty one that they would give her strength, I prayed with all my being.

 

 

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I kept my eyes focused downward. My feet moved me to…I do not know. I didn’t want to know. I knew people laid dead all around me. I smelled it. It coated the air and filled my lungs complete. I felt ill.

We boarded a boat, my village and I.   Prodded, jabbed...they shoved us into its belly. My mother wept quietly as they chained us to the floor. I braved a look and saw many people crammed so close together that it was hard to breath.  It was so hot and my throat was parched.

Screams echoed above, blood curdling screams that made my skin crawl with fear. “Mother what’s happening?” She said nothing but held me close. She trembled and murmured words of prayer.

I wanted to lie down, but couldn’t.   We were sitting so close together that it made it impossible.

Days passed, weeks, months…I’m not sure. An old woman just a few feet from me had not moved for days and she smelled bad. They came and removed her. I had hoped that maybe the fresh air might help her, but then I heard a splash. I looked at my mother; her eyes welled up in tears and hugged me tighter.

Mother hasn’t talked for awhile now. She has held me closely since the day we both were captured.  I can remember when she often told me stories that put visions in my imagination and her voice was like music.   It calmed and soothed me greatly. I wish she would tell me one now.

My stomach talked to me. It told me it is very sick. I rubbed it gently hoping that it would help, but it doesn’t.   We had rats. They fed off the ones who were sick and unable to shoo them away. At least their tummies got full. My mother shared her piece of bread with me. She doesn’t eat. She was thin and her skin had paled. I saw her ribs; they poked out from under her skin. I am scared.

 

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Why are we to suffer? I don’t remember doing anything bad. I missed my friends. Are they alive like me? I remembered when the old ones sat around the fire and told us lovely stories of mythical creatures and the great hunts…they’re dead now. Those monsters killed them. I saw them do it! They couldn’t run! They couldn’t protect themselves! I cried because they just sat there and closed their eyes. Blood flew everywhere. Grandfather?

 It has been such a long time without seeing the light of day.   This shall remain burnt into my memory and be known as the passage to hell.

Reviews

[Lauren Marie]

What a sad story! Was this historical fiction?
One thing though: "My stomach talked to me. It told me it is very sick." You switched through different tenses throughout the story. Just read back through and fix where nessessary.

Good job, you conveyed the emotions well and really described what the girl was feeling.

~Lauren