Creative Writing: My First Vietnam War

I was running. I didn’t know what was chasing me, but it was terrible. All pink and rabib, and some of it was getting on my leather, insubstantial sandals. It smelled awful, too. Just like the pigs next to me, while I was working in the fields. Smelling mephitic and contaminated. Gosh. The odor. But the thing was still chasing me. And it was getting closer…and closer…. I woke up, cold sweat dripping down my back, feeling like raindrops. My waist-long brown hair was rough and dry under my fingers, and my hazel eyes were red. I could tell without a mirror. I was still in my bed, sleeping beside Mama, still in the scratchy cotton sheets people like us had made many years ago. Yes, I was a cotton slave along with my mama, Deena Williams. And boy, …show more content…
Mama, wake up,” I whispered in a groggy voice. Mother coughed, her voice sounding dry and cacophonous.
“I’m awake.” We both got dressed in the cotton dresses, cotton head wraps, and the leather sandals the mass’a had supplied. It wasn’t the finest clothes in the plantation, but it was enough to keep us going. We walked outside, to get in the line for the putrescent food they gave us. Currently, food was insufficient. The man handed us what looked like some dried meat, water, and some crusty bread. Then we had to go down to the fields; it was time to work. Mama and I worked on a cotton plantation, which meant that we were given the wonderful job of harvesting cotton.
People with whips were constantly watching us. If we dared to sit down, that was one lash. If we sat down by the trees where they couldn’t see us, that was 3 lashes. And if we refused to work even after those lashes, we got 10 lashes. No one had gone over that. The rules were clear as crystal. Work, or you will be sorry. Working in the fields wasn’t that bad. It did require some muscle, but otherwise from that, I could handle it. I was just about to …show more content…
I didn't think about the cough I was starting to get. And I absolutely did not care about the whip master that seemed to be watching me so closely. All I cared about was Mama. And she was gone.
Suzy Foster was my only light in this world. She rocked me, and sang to me when I had nightmares. She stood by my bed while I slept, and was the one who watched over me. I soon forgot about the rest of the world.
The only trouble came when I was the one with a fever this time. I was the one who was vomiting, and I was the one with that dirt-dry cough. Yes. I had caught the Bacon Sniffles. It was ironic, really. My mother and now me. I was only allowed to sit in bed and stare at the wooden wall, rotten with termites. My only joy was again, Suzy; she was my light. She was my mother all over again.
As I continued to get sicker and sicker, less folks came to visit me. After many long and boring days, it was just me and Suzy. And even then she had to go work in the fields from time to time.
Every meal I ate was some sort of soup. One day it was a greasy chicken broth. One day it was some sort of meat. I didn’t ask was kind of animal it was from. All I can say is that Suzy told me she saw the other slaves killing a dead dog. It was pathetic, really. I was as good as

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