Vanilla

1920 Fall New Orleans, LouisianaDress hiked up, hands balled up in bloody fists. Skin snagging; being cut and twisted on the brutal, untamed branches. Mama always told me to keep my hair pulled back and out of my face. I think that’s what saved me. My bare feet are sliced on the rocks and sticks below. But the blood rushing through my veins keeps me from feeling any pain, except the burning of my lungs and heart.Freedom is what I always had and the idea of having to fight for it, like my great-grandmother did, burns my soul. I hear the hounds on my trail. The vicious fire cutting towards me is unfazed by any obstacles nature puts in its path. Right behind them is the men. The white men, in all black. No, these ain’t the KKK; these ain’t even yo average racist. These are the hunters. The ones who catch free black women for fun. Rape’em, beat’em, hang’em, kill’em.They slaughter black women; with no consequences. And the man over it all is none other than my uncle, John. Mary runs behind me, barely keeping pace. I know she gone get caught, but maybe she can make it if she gets to the swamp in time. They say if we make it there, we free. We can live. But if they catch us befo’ we get there, kiss life goodbye. Mary is big and slow always has been. I wanna help her but I’m all Fifi got, I can’t get caught. A bang rings through the air, I look back at Mary. She got a big hole in her stomach. Blood start filling it up spreading across her white dress. Her eyes open wide in disbelief; soon enough rolling to the back of her head as she falls to the ground. And behind her is a white man with a smoking silver gun, Sam Wanger. The one I dread the most. The one I ain’t want on my trail. Wasting no time, I continue towards the swamp, pushing with every inch of my body. “Ain’t that my pretty yella girl running. I’m’a get ya soon, Sweetheart!” Sam yells at me. Like hell you will!