The world ain't right no more. In my eyes, everythin' seems all different. I dunno what it is, but yesterday ain't the same as today.
I don't go in 'till past the time my knees start achin', my nose stuffy from the hay. I refuse to go 'till the boy tells me his name, and by the time he does I don't wanna leave no more. I tell 'em a story that I make up on the spot 'bout a tree that didn't think it could grow. I put a moral in and everythin', 'cause that's what you gotta do.
He laughs at the parts you supposed to laugh, smilin' the rest of the story. I had a sad endin' at first, but i didn't wanna share it, so I made it all happy. Originally, the tree was supposed to be cut down when it start branchin' out, by a mean 'ol man, but then I decided for it not to happen. The tree lived happy, all big and strong. I imagine that'd never happen fo' real, but in stories there's magic.
I go when I hear his mother comin' back, with the other slaves livin' in this shack. He smiles, not lettin' go of my hand, tellin' me that I've gotta come back. He doesn't let go 'till I promise.
When I reach the house, it's supper, but daddy is still sittin' with the mistress and Mary ain't here neither. I go to find Miss. Lizabeth, desperate to sit with anyone, but then I remember she's chaperonin' Mary.
Cecile is slavin' over food in the kitchen, talkin' with Samuel. I don't know what he does, cause whenever I see 'em, he ain't doin' nothin'. But at this point I don't care too much, 'cause as a slave I'd be the same way.
I sit down in a wooden chair, off to the side, lettin' Cecile keep on talkin' with Samuel. I don't let 'em notice me, though I'm real lonely and could use someone to talk to. Cecile seems to be enjoyin' herself, and I hear their shared' stories of 'er husban'. This time she ain't got no tears.
"You tell her?" Samuel suddenly asks, switchin' topics after a lovely story, 'bout how funny the man was.
"Yessir," Cecile mumbles back, "She a real nice girl, don't like her daddy too much. She ain't gonna tell 'em."
I wonder if they talkin' 'bout me, if I'm the 'her' in their whispers. By the way Samuel talkin', I sure hope I ain't.
"You sure 'bout that, if she does we'll both sure get a whipin' for meetin' and talkin' like we have."
"Corinne is real nice, she won't hurt us, no sir."
And with that the room is flooded with silence.
I don't go in 'till past the time my knees start achin', my nose stuffy from the hay. I refuse to go 'till the boy tells me his name, and by the time he does I don't wanna leave no more. I tell 'em a story that I make up on the spot 'bout a tree that didn't think it could grow. I put a moral in and everythin', 'cause that's what you gotta do.
He laughs at the parts you supposed to laugh, smilin' the rest of the story. I had a sad endin' at first, but i didn't wanna share it, so I made it all happy. Originally, the tree was supposed to be cut down when it start branchin' out, by a mean 'ol man, but then I decided for it not to happen. The tree lived happy, all big and strong. I imagine that'd never happen fo' real, but in stories there's magic.
I go when I hear his mother comin' back, with the other slaves livin' in this shack. He smiles, not lettin' go of my hand, tellin' me that I've gotta come back. He doesn't let go 'till I promise.
When I reach the house, it's supper, but daddy is still sittin' with the mistress and Mary ain't here neither. I go to find Miss. Lizabeth, desperate to sit with anyone, but then I remember she's chaperonin' Mary.
Cecile is slavin' over food in the kitchen, talkin' with Samuel. I don't know what he does, cause whenever I see 'em, he ain't doin' nothin'. But at this point I don't care too much, 'cause as a slave I'd be the same way.
I sit down in a wooden chair, off to the side, lettin' Cecile keep on talkin' with Samuel. I don't let 'em notice me, though I'm real lonely and could use someone to talk to. Cecile seems to be enjoyin' herself, and I hear their shared' stories of 'er husban'. This time she ain't got no tears.
"You tell her?" Samuel suddenly asks, switchin' topics after a lovely story, 'bout how funny the man was.
"Yessir," Cecile mumbles back, "She a real nice girl, don't like her daddy too much. She ain't gonna tell 'em."
I wonder if they talkin' 'bout me, if I'm the 'her' in their whispers. By the way Samuel talkin', I sure hope I ain't.
"You sure 'bout that, if she does we'll both sure get a whipin' for meetin' and talkin' like we have."
"Corinne is real nice, she won't hurt us, no sir."
And with that the room is flooded with silence.
