I was relieved to have a boy. That he was lighter than his father. That the Missus wouldn’t abuse him like all the others I bore.
He was raised with his white half, grew up to give me commands.
When his sister was born, I tried to keep them apart. She was black like me, slept in the attic…
At night, years later, I hear the stairs creak under his heavy boot. My stomach twists in knots when she reemerges with the sun, her dress torn.
—Nortina
Monday’s One-Minute Fiction challenges you to write a story in one minute, no more, no less, based on the prompt provided. Monday’s BlaPoWriMo / Black History Month-inspired prompt was the above photo of a mammy and her charge or, perhaps, a mother and her child. In that time, the lines were often blurred.
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That’s pain no mother should ever endure😢
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I don’t pretend to understand the African-American experience but I am, nonetheless, very moved by this piece.
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I myself can’t begin to understand the hardships African Americans experienced in that era. And sometimes I fear I don’t do them justice when I write about it. But I continue to write about it, because I know it will move someone. Thanks so much for reading!
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