UNTITLED BEGINING

Jackson

        Jackson started through the woods, galloping at a speed faster than he thought possible with the short, stout little legs that he owned. He heard the white man’s footfalls a distance off. He was running with all his puissance, yet the more he ran, the slower the trees seemed to be passing by. He could swear his heart was trying to escape his body, crawling and scratching as though it was being held against its will. Closer and closer the sound came, prying at the little calmness he had left.

           He felt as though the pressure had heightened all his senses. He felt the arms of prickly bushes taking claim of his skin and felt it being yanked away. He smelt everything too; he smelt the old swampy smell of the little lake he had to cross on this mind boggling chase. His brain tires felt as though they were spinning out of control, trying to remember how to do simple tasks such as running, seeing, feeling, and hearing. He had to think “right, left, right, left” just to remember how to run.

     Then there it was, he could hear the rushes of surging mass beating at the rocks as though they have wronged it in some way, patiently; though not quietly waiting for its next victim. He was almost there, but even so the throbbing throughout his feet was still steadily growing, not giving any ease with the knowledge of almost being there. The pain felt as though it was growing into a dark hole of crawling throbs eating away at his limbs, starting from his feet and spreading to his legs.

  “ Only a lil more way to go” he thought. Just have to make it through the…BAM, his thoughts were interrupted by something hard and piercing coming down on the back of his head. “I got you now n****r, I’ve got you know” said John Blake, the old overseer that was given much more power than due.

 

 

 

MAMA JONES

 

         “Mama Jones, Mama Jones” said Quincy. Wake Up!  I need ya help Mama Jones. She sat, plump on her butt, when she realized that Mama Jones was not waking up. The old lady was in an odd slumped position, with her head leaned to one half of her body. She could have easily been mistaken to be sleeping. Yet in this moment she was not sleeping. Quincy had started sniffling long sniffles and crying long sobs. She knew that something was wrong with Mama Jones, but she couldn’t figure out just what it was.

          In a moment the new overseer came to examine the scene. He cringed up his lean, pale face as though he was looking at road kill, and not a human being. Yet in those rock blue eyes of his, he was just looking at a piece of spoiled nothing. A nothing that couldn’t work anymore. From the start they were nothing, lazy nothings. They were of no use, yet they were put to work from sunrise to sun fall. Yet, they were the ones that gave the south the highest cash crop value, especially since that damned cotton gin was invented. Even though it was invented by a white man, it was their hands who worked that retched machine. It was they who suffered the consequences of the cotton gin. It was the white man who profited, who got all the praise and glory. But no one saw the black hands who worked these fields; no one saw how much those hands did. After all they were just nothings, useless, lazy nothings.

        “Why you people starting to gather ‘round for, there ain’t nothing to see here” said the overseer. Go on! Git! The young adults and children started rushing of for fear of their lives. But some of the old folks stayed, giving the young overseer some trouble. They thought might as well; they had spent most of their years here. They were sure that they were going to die here too.

       “What you old lazies want?” Did y’all forget y’all self’s, “Yeah, we did” cried out an onlooker. “Well hold on a minute, I soon come help y’all remember with this here whip” said the young overseer. “What you gone do with that in my old age, y’all done whip my back out a correction, y’all might as well put me down now. What use do y’all have for me no more” said old Linda. “What you’d say, you old bat” said the over seer. “I’m sure I was speaking the same language that you speak, and I’m sure ya heard me too.” He stepped closer with a rapid speed, eyeing her down to the size he though she should be. His face showed astonishment at the old lazy. The only reason he wasn’t striking her now was because he was new on the job. He didn’t want old Lenox thinking he couldn’t handle, didn’t want him thinking that he was already stirring up trouble. He wanted to show him how well he handled this pile of cow dung and on the first day too. He wasn’t about to let this dusty bag of bones get in his way either. “Yeah okay” he decided to reply. You just go on back to them fields, ya hear? Go on, git. All a you. Git!

     Poor Quincy was still sitting crying, much confused by what was going on. She didn’t want anything to be wrong with Mama Jones. She wanted Mama Jones to be alive and well, but she knew, somehow she knew in her young age, that that was not the case in this moment. Only eight years old but she had seen much more than the average adult. She had seen happiness, or at least the happiness that was allowed to a slave. She had seen a whole lot of sadness too. And though she didn’t exactly know how to cope in this situation, she knew all was not right. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen it before. In her nine years of life she had seen death and pain. Though she didn’t know how it came or from where, she knew who to fear and who to trust. She had loved Mama Jones, as much as everyone else or maybe even more. Jackson and she shared a special bond with Mama Jones. Though they both had separate families and a Mom and a Dad, only Mama Jones was Mama Jones.

Author's Note

I'm not done yet, I just wanted to post it up to see what you guys think of it. Please review it will be much appreciated! Thanks!

Reviews

[Oddly]

Wow your only in the...about to be 9th grade! Lol. And you have such amazing writing. You deffinetly was telling a story through your imagery. While i was reading I could visualize what was happening. I could picture how the people would look. Like the overseer's lean face and Jackson's short stubby legs. You use great personification... like the arms of prickly bushes taking claim of his skin and yanking it away and the rushes of surging mass beating at the rocks as though its wronged it in some way, patienctly though not quietly wating for its next victim. YOU GO GURL! cant wait to read more!

[Judy]

This is great writing. You have a good voice! The only thing I saw wrong is some missing punctuation. Also, if you start a new paragraph every time someone different speaks, you're dialogue will be easier to follow. Looking forward to reading more.