Whip

Whip







The whip drives us, cracks the air behind us, sometimes into us. We work, we live and we die before it. We listen for it, look for it, and we fear it. Numerous backs have been scarred, scores of us tormented, and countless numbers of us killed. We are slaves before our driver and his whip, doomed to work for them without end. We do not think, we feel not joy nor happiness, pleasure nor hope. We feel only pain, hunger and thirst, beneath the scorching sun and the burning of the hot sands beneath our feet. Slaves such as me don’t see any future beyond the next sunrise, if it comes. We aren’t seen as much more than animals to the free people of our village, and most of us believe this is how life is meant to be. For most of us, we were born into slavery. For most of us, this is how life is, and always will be.

But I am different. I think for tomorrow, I want to break my chains and turn the whip away. I long to be free. I must be free; free from the torment of the whip and our master. But I fear the whip, and I wait. I wait for a time when I can finally be free and be my own man, so I can live my own life, and truly be alive. And I believe that one day, a change will come. A change that will set me free. I look for a change that will give me the chance to live my life as my own. I await the rising of the sun. I look for the dawn of a new tomorrow. I wait. And I hope.



I only remember one thing from before the whip, in my life that was taken from me before I could even run. In the cold night these dark skinned invaders came, yelling and killing. They broke down the door, grabbed me from my bed and threw blazing torches into my room. Out of the house I was carried, and what I saw of my home burned. My world went up in flames that night, my carefree world as a child vanished into smoke and was replaced by the harsh survival of the fittest life I have now, taken from me forever in that one night that burned. Everything burned. And they screamed. The people screamed, as the people burned. Then I remember nothing, but the screams and cries of the dying still sound in my head, while the flames of that night dance in my eyes.





I was set to work. I was one of the luckier ones who served people of high rank in the tribe, so I had easier work inside under the shelter away from the merciless sun and was taught to read and write, but only in the tongue of the tribe I was enslaved to. Others were made to work outside in the boiling heat, digging holes and dragging carts. Those who work outside never live for long, so my position inside was envied by the other slaves. And it was true, my position wasn’t bad, but I was still beaten often, for my master was a high ranking man in the towns army, who enjoyed hearing me yell out in pain. He always did this himself, and always made sure that it hurt without damaging me too much. I have never feared anyone as much as him. But I guess if it wasn’t for him, I would never have escaped.



Suddenly one day I was awoken by my master. He kicked at me as I lay on the blanket that was my bed, and yelled at me to get up. I quickly stood up, looking down to avoid looking into his cruel, sharp face. Slaves were never allowed to look their master in eyes, or anyone else except other slaves. And I also stooped down so I shorter than my master, because like all the tribes people, he was a small man. He suddenly drew his short curved blade and started beating me with the flat side of it, occasionally drawing blood with the sharp edges. Eventually the beatings stopped, and I was made to walk outside out into the stable yard, and help other slaves get my masters horse ready. We did not talk to each other or even look at each other, for we feared any beatings we may gain from it. Soon we finished, and were jogging alongside the master as he rode out the gates of the town. I had no idea where we were going, but eventually we meet up with many other slaves and their masters, most of which were soldiers. Soon there was around a thousand slaves and around the half the number of the tribesmen. From what I heard from my masters meetings with other high ranking officers we were to attack a neighbouring tribe, and whenever he looked at me he would grin horrible, like he knew some kind of dreadful secret.



We had found the enemy. They rode their horses and came thundering towards us. We slaves were pushed out in front of our masters, towards the enemy. I looked around quickly to see what was happening and received a sharp blow to my head. But I saw. Our masters were going back far behind us, drawing out their weapons. We haven’t received any weapons. I didn’t know what was happening, and I didn’t like it.



We stood there, facing the enemy as they charged towards us. We did not flee. We feared great punishment from the whip if we did. Nothing is worth the whip snapping upon you. Behind us our masters started forward, swinging their weapons. Each side had thrown spears, and some hit us. But we still did not move. The fear of what would happen made us want to run, but the greater fear of punishment held us in place. With a sinking feeling I had realised that this was the end, that we were a wall between two enemies charging towards each other, and we slaves were about to be swept aside as easily as dirt before a broom.



I then heard a different sound. It was nothing like I had heard before, a long, deep sound. I looked towards the sand dune that the sound had come from, and so did everyone else. Suddenly a great mass of people on the horses came riding out over the dune. I looked closely at them and realised with a start that their skin was not a sun baked brown like our masters and of the other tribe. It was like mine and most of the other slaves! A pale colour that the sun refused to tan. They came down the hill, shouting warcrys in a strange tongue that stirred something deep inside my memory.



They fought with both the tribes, who fought back almost as one. It was a fight to survive, for the right to live. I was afraid. I stayed with the others, trying to stay out of the battle. I didn’t know what to do, I was so afraid. I did nothing.





Everyone was dead or dying but us. The moans of men yet to leave the land of the living filled the air with the final song. I looked closely at one of the white men like us. He looked the same even though he dressed differently, but where was his master, and why did he fight? Suddenly he moved and grabbed me, pulling me to my knees. He spoke in that strange tongue first, and then changed to the one I knew and stared into my eyes.



“You are free.”



He held that deep stare, making sure I understood. Then the final hint of life in his eyes faded away, and his grip loosened into a dead hold. I had then stared at his lifeless body, dumbstruck.



“Free?”



I had once before heard that word, and so I already knew what it ment. It feels strange on my lips. I stood up.



“Free! We are free!”



I shouted it with all my being. I shouted it with such passion, with such, happiness, that every one of us took up the call.



“We are free! Free!”



Even those who didn’t know the word could tell what it was, what it meant, what it stood for. It wasn’t just a sound, a word. It was a change, something fresh and new. It was something to look forward to. It was filled with joy and happiness, things most of us have never known, or felt before. But most of all it was filled with one most important thing, something that we should never let go of, never let die. It was filled with something we shall never let go of again, something that with the first taste can never be easily crushed. All of us were filled with this now, and with it we can look for the days beyond tomorrow.



Hope.



We found hope.