The Story of Tituba

993 Words4 Pages
It all started 3 long hard weeks ago. When a cold white male bought me as his dutiful slave. He has two beautiful daughters that I was never supposed to let out of my sight. They were sweet young girls that accepted everything and everyone, good or bad. They were loud, obnoxious, and funny. The best part about these girls was that they made me feel like I was one of them. They made me smile, laugh, and feel warm inside, like I was apart of their family. The father on the other hand? His name was Jack. He was mean and harsh. He made me feel like a nasty slave. All cold and bitter. He reminded me of the sound that’s made when you scratch your nails across a clean chalkboard. I was in their giant, ranch style house for about 3 days when the girls started talking to me. God did it feel like christmas morning when I finally started to feel accepted by someone in this cold, sad town. We talked and played and even made warm rising chocolate chip cookies. They were those kind of cookies that when you bite into them you feel like you have to do it in slow motion to get the picture perfect effect. They asked me questions about my life in Africa and how many brothers and sisters I had. I told them how the air smelt, kind of like fresh cut grass and blooming flowers on a warm spring day. In the background you could always hear running water from the waterfalls, and animals roaring and squeaking. The things I would do to go back to that place. A few days later they asked me the question that changed my life forever. Their young, innocent sounding voices asked me in sync, “Tituba do you think we’ll ever get married?”. Yes. That was it. That simple question eventually changed my fate. I may have left out a few details about myself. In Africa... ... middle of paper ... ...ling, that’s how it felt. I woke up, in a place so dark and cold. Black walls surrounding my cold shivering body. My eyes felt like rocks had been set on top of them. There was a little hole in the middle of the ceiling directly above me. A cement block was slowly removed from above it. I saw a face. I will always remember, so mean and harsh. It was Jack. He had a medium sized tin bucket that he was slowly tipping over. I tried standing up when I realized my scrawny arms and legs were attached to the ground. I screamed at the top of my lungs and then looked up to a dozen of black rats falling on top of my body. That was it. Now i'm just a figure. I live in the giant, ranch style house I lived in just three weeks before. The difference is this time they don't see me, they don’t hear me, they don’t even know I’m here. I finally changed the game, “ Death do us part.”
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