A Heart as Dark as Sin

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Mistress Ross was the most pious woman in the whole South. Why, just look how well she and her husband treated their slaves! What good Christians, ladies said at meetings. She was a modest woman— her husband had a plantation of respectable size with 50 slaves but she still wasn’t above donating generously to the Church. She felt she had to serve the Lord by uplifting the poor, unenlightened souls of her slaves and teach them the holy path. Master Ross shook his head at his wife, for everyone knew that you give a slave one inch and they suddenly act like they own the farm. I had light skin, so she took pity on me and took me inside the house when I was three. It was fine, mostly; I had good food, clothes, education, and a place to stay.However, I was taught to be seen and not heard. I ate only after everyone else had gone to sleep., When we had company, I stood by the dinner table silently, just serving more helpings, while the guests fondled Dorothy, the Ross’s daughter. Dorothy wasn’t really at fault. She was the same age as me, and nice enough. I didn’t expect anyone to be particularly nice anyway.I was indebted to the Rosses for taking me in even though I was a lowly slave. Who knew what would have happened to me if I had been left in the jungles of Africa? Something was different about Dorothy though. Her sweet, thin face held something her parents lacked. She stayed with me to eat after everyone had gone to sleep, although her parents forbade her. When she was seven, she started learning from a tutor and Mistress decided that I knew enough to read the Bible, thus terminating my education. I didn’t think much of the way she educated me anyway, explaining everything fifty times as if I was a dumb cow. But I thirste... ... middle of paper ... ...he same of me, that I have a heart as dark as sin? Yet when so many whites and blacks would walk on, I know some blacks who would help. Maybe some whites would too. Maybe that woman would help me if I were in danger. I only knew three white people and from them defined millions. If their assumption was wrong, who could say that my assumption was correct? I believed whites were not superior yet I echoed them, saying that blacks were superior. To white plantation owners, money won over a human’s life; to me freedom won over a human’s life. I believed firmly that I was morally superior, but I wanted to let that woman die. How was I better than the plantation owner who happily let his female slave die? By doing so, my heart would be as blackened as theirs. If I were the same as they, to let one of them die would be die myself. I leaped into the flames.

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