July Contest

Enslaved

By July 10, 2019 No Comments

“Swish!” “Thud!”, the sounds that governed the late evenings and the early mornings, announcing the death of one who committed no crime.
I had gone to sell oranges at the village market only to wake up here; with my limbs chained together, waiting in line to get a taste of the death blade.
Back in the village, we only heard these stories on papa’s radio. Mama said they were ‘hate crimes’. I never bothered with the meaning.
I wondered if they knew I’d become the news they’d hear at sundown. It was my turn now.
I woke up, sweating.

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