Liberty

	My father died today. I was in the field working the cotton. Not a particularly noble job but it kept the masters from knocking on my door. After all keeping your head down was what kept you alive around here. My father never heeded this advice, always volunteering for the dirtiest jobs, always leading the communion in song. He was the one that people looked up to around here and look where it got him.
	It all started the third sunday in the month of April. I was sitting in the pew of family-less old men, it was an uncomfortable perch for me but one that was afforded to me because of my age, I was too old to sit with my family and too young to have one of my own. I saw Annabelle sauntering past, wearing pants again for the third time this month. Nothing made my blood boil more than a woman not knowing her place in the world. She should be whipped for this, thinking herself above the laws of our Lord. I settled into my rough pine seat, my sunday best rubbing me the wrong way. A single call to order was issued from the priest and then the sermon began.
	The minister spoke of God's wrath and Jesus’s compassion, of Angels and Demon and all the things in between. We sat there for many hours listening to the cadence of the preachers voice and in our minds eye we could nearly see the gates of heaven sitting before us. It had seemed like time had gone on without us while we were in that most holy of places. As the priest gave us his final scraps of wisdom the creaking of benches rang out and the cries of children rang out.
	While the congregation filed out I noticed a wagon sitting in the masters drive, gleaming with mal-intent. This couldn’t be good, outsiders brought change and change brought death. With a sinking feeling in my stomach I ducked my head down and kept walking. My dreams would be my only solace tonight.
	When I awoke there was no sun shining through the window, no pleasant chirping of birds, just a biting cold and the shrill scream of the overseers whistle. I rolled over and sat up straight, I found no peace in the night and my feelings still rampaged through me. As I changed out of my Sunday clothes I donned my boots and prepped myself to meet the world. My door creaked on its hinges as I went to face the outside..
	A field of white laid before my eyes. Dots of black milled about waiting for the order to begin  the harvesting. It was a familiar sight filled with familiar faces. One stood apart, pacing, watching, waiting. Like a snake lying in the grass, his ghostly skin giving him the appearance scale and his reptilian glare was filled with cold calculation. When he looked at me I met his gaze. This was the worst thing I could possibly do.
	He sauntered over, looking down into my eyes as he casually swept my feet from beaneath me. Suddenly without warning or provocation I found myself on the ground with a large boot resting on my chest and a excruciatingly sharp knife gleaming above me. The young man cast his gaze to the hushed crowd and said “ I am your new overseer. I am not your friend nor am I like any overseer that you’ve had before, my job is to work you to the bone then throw you out once you're all used up. Cotton picking starts right now.”
	His voice was honeyed poison. He sounded like a city slicker. For all that his face betrayed he could've been eating strawberries instead of threatening people. That man had an evil aura about him and it frightened me. I had found a disciple of the devil.
	He removed his foot and I laid there waiting for his permission to rise. All I recieved was a kick in the side of the ribs. I stood rubbing my side and started picking cotton at double my normal rate. Cotton flowed through my fingers faster than I had ever thought possible. My skin turned raw and fingers cracked and bled. But every time I thought of slowing down, every time I thought of giving up he was there beside me, sharpening his knife.
	Weeks passed like this. My father tried to make the overseer feel welcome by baking a pie and was beaten for “stealing the ingredients”. Someone fell in the field one day and the overseer shot him in the legs. A woman smiled at him and was whipped for being a harlot. He brought much pain to my community.
	It was May 23rd when it happened. My father who could see the good in anyone. My father who could lead the community and put a smile on anyones face. My father, the man who raised me, died.
	It was a day unlike any before it. The sun pounded us from above, the ground tripped us from below, and the vultures circled overhead waiting for a meal. Water was a precious commodity. It was was imported from the lake about 10 miles down the road. Water was awarded based on a merit system. Whoever worked the best that hour got a glass of water.
	When the time came to award another glass my father was chosen again. He was always a consummate hard worker. This was the third time that he had won today and this was the third time that the overseer “spilled” it. Like any sane man my father broke. He screamed, charged, and died before taking more than three steps.
	His body did not spasm, it did not collapse, it simply fell to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. After hearing the the soft slap of his body hitting the ground I broke too. I ran forward putting all my hate into each step I planted into the ground. Two men grabbing me with all their might held me back from stopping this monster once and for all. I was an inch away from killing him and he just laughed.
	When we left the fields that day a plan was hatched in my mind. I valued my own life but in this pursuit of justice I would gladly relinquish it. The idea of my righteous retribution drove the pain from my limbs and the put purpose into my step. The overseer would pay.
	It was late when I slipped out and the stars were twinkling above. It was beautiful, too bad my father would never see this sight. I threw my rock and shivered in fear and anticipation. He burst through the door, alert for any signs of burglary, to some threat from the night. Leaving my perch I bounded lightly across the lawn, every bit of my body was focused in a singular effort to kill.I leapt forward with my knife and drove it through his black heart, laughing all the while. My duty was done, my father was avenged, and my master dead in one fell swoop.
	Men came and shackled me, keeping me down with cruel blows upon my flesh. Bruises and welts formed but no pain was dealt upon me. No harm could reach me any more.  I was liberated in the most figurative of senses, my flesh shackled but my soul ran free. Even now I could here my heavenly father calling me to his gates. I closed my eyes for the last time and answered that call.