2017 2018 complete

Safe & Sound

Isabella Gillioz

The bright sun shines on the back of my neck. It is warm against my skin as I pick the soft clouds of white cotton. With every breeze the stalks sway gently in the ravishing orange light. I work with Papa in the hot field. He always works the hardest out of the two of us. Because of my small size I cannot lift and pick the amount we are meant to. I look down at my basket and see a pitiful sight. It is only half full. Papa’s basket is overflowing with the luscious cotton. He looks up from his work and glances up at the setting sun. His dark eyes glow a fascinating amber. I wonder if my own eyes glow like his. It is almost time to wrap up today's work. He takes some cotton from his basket and puts it in my own. Then he continues picking the plant, and I follow in his path. My tiny fingers are blistered. I tilt my head at them, studying the creases and crevices along my palm. I see a quick movement from my peripheral vision and hear a loud snap. I turn and am taken aback by the sight. Papa is on the ground. “Papa?” I ask. He makes no move. Not a single twitch. His open eyes stare into nothing. They are blank. “Papa? Papa!” I say frantically. He stays where he is. Panic overtakes me and I take a step closer to him. I drop to my knees to be at his side. “Papa! Papa! Papa!” I scream. My eyes swell up with tears. I push them away, needing to see. I shake his shoulder and he falls limply to his back. My tears fall onto his dirty shirt. Through the lump in my throat, I cry out once more, “Papa… Papa!” And the sobs come. They come in short bursts with wet droplets pouring down my burning cheeks.

“Hey! Hey!” calls the overseer on his

high horse.

I turn to him, a flicker of hope turning

on.

“Help him! Help him, please!” I

shout.

But the man turns away from Papa and me.

They come in short bursts with wet droplets pouring down my burning cheeks .

He turns away from my hope. The little flame

crumbles into ash and I kneel there with my ember, my spark that has kept me alive all these years. “Papa… Papa…” I murmur through my sobs. I hear footsteps come from behind me. I peek over my shoulder to see the overseer, Master, Misses, and Abigail the house slave. “The damn negro broke the basket,” Master curses aloud. My eyebrows knit together in both worry and confusion. Misses looks down at me with her own brows pulled together. “Help him… please, Master, please,” I mumble. “I’m sorry, dear but he’s… he’s gone,” Misses says. I turn back to Papa. He is gone. I can’t accept this. I can’t. I shake his shoulder, whispering his name. “Please, Papa. Please… Come back. Come back,” I mutter while tears come flowing down. “Stop wasting your breath,” remarks Master. I place my head on Papa’s chest. No beat. He’s empty. I’m empty.

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