Last Of Slaves
The whip crack across the back. Muscles screams out in distress as skin splits and peels. Red welts writhe into being as the leather carefully curves around the body. The arm raises and falls again and again. Teeth grind together like the stone being milled. Jaws flex and clench, throats screech out in the blackened silence. Coal blackened bodies dropped one after the other the life wrung out of them.
The masters work us to the end of our life. Born and bred within the darkness, all we have known is the dark under life. Most would talk of a god that would save them. That would take pity on them and lead them to salvation.
I knew better.
Nothing was coming to take us away. Nothing cared enough about us deep, down beneath the loam and soil. If we were to survive we will have to take salvation in our hands. Bit by bit I have stockpiled and squirreled away. Gun powder, make shift weapons and tools. We will take ourselves back from these brutal beings who look down on us.
We will thrive within these cavernous walls. Slaves no more.
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