He growled with rage, ”Names?”

“I’m Cecael.”

“I’m her brother, James.”

“Alright, where are you two from, what is your date of birth, and what was your birth names?” he hissed.

That was a good question, except neither James, nor I, knew the answers to all of those questions...

My name is Cecael, and I’m a slave. My brother and I were born in Guinea, Africa. I don’t know exactly how old I am, or my real name, and neither does my brother. Our parents died when we still lived in Guinea, trying to protect us from the invaders. I vaguely remember...

They came when the whole village slept, on a dark, dead night. They barged into our homes and dragged us out however they could: pulled by our hair, loose skin, and hands. Mom and dad tried their hardest to stop them from taking us. My dad and mom were the king cobras, who struck when they came close: hissing, clawing, and hitting. They tried to defend us. The invaders decided our parents were too violent, too protective, so they took them out behind our house - we heard the king cobra's hiss no more. I was only eleven when this happened, and my brother was about fourteen.

After chained and silenced, they shipped us on a cargo ship with other slaves to be sent to the New World, a free land. They shoved with force, pushed with pleasure, and shredded every last hope of freedom when we were dragged onto the ship. I didn’t want to go. It felt like a new evil awaits if I enter the ship, a new horror, I felt such a desperate loss. But they kept pulling my hair, and I choked back the tears when we moved forward. Once on the ship, we were told to go below deck, I hadn’t had a thought as to what that meant. I thought it would be a simple, long room to hold us for the trip, but no, it was worse. Manure, livestock, and rotten food were scattered everywhere and the moisture from the ocean, filled with stench, clung to my tear dampened cheeks. There were no windows, no flow of air, only an irrevocable smell of horrid sickness. After we left dock, the journey began.

It’s was only one week on the ship, it was terrible, all terrible. Everyone was starved, from the mothers and fathers that clung to their recently deceased children, to the healthy negroes of the bunch. They fed us biscuits, most of them with worms or mold, and they gave us about five or ten buckets for lavatory usage. With forty or so people below deck, it only made matters worse. Everyone was extremely sick, nauseated, and fatigued. Days past, then a couple of weeks, and my brother and I sat and laid in silence, we slowly diminished. They never changed out our buckets, never gave us real food, but they did make us feel more worthless than dirt. The buckets were full of feces and puke - they were overflowing. Whichever way the ship went, the extra liquids went with it. One more week went by, it almost felt like time stopped to make us suffer more, but they finally changed our buckets. However, there wasn’t forty people below deck anymore. There were only twenty two, and the rest died of starvation, sickness, and sleep deprivation. But the trip was almost over, I thought, if only I could last.

We arrived in New London, Connecticut the morning of the fifth week on the ship. Fourteen of us left, and we made it. Once we were put back into chains, and shoved off of the ship, we were told we would be going to the auction. A place where they sell people like us to work for the white people. They told us we’d be lucky if they bought any of our foul kind...

Sweat dripped down my face, people starred with sinful eyes, and the words, “Slaves, slaves for auction!” repeated over and over while we moved up in the line. Once we were put in an auction room, I listened to him describe my brother and I as, “A two for one deal,” and to “Buy us quick,”. After about five minutes we were sold to a married couple. The man was a tree with beady eyes, and scowl stitched on his face. This man was to be our master, tall and muscular, intimidating and frightening. The woman to his right was thin and bruised, but she was wide-eyed with an evil stare that sank into my thoughts.

My brother nudged,”Introduce yourself sister, be... polite.” I hadn’t even realized he was talking to me, I only heard a low murmur coming from his mouth. I was frightened and overwhelmed.

“H-hello,” I whimpered softly.

The woman snapped, “Well, this one is quiet. She will do the cleaning of the house. And the auctionist claimed that you had no name? Excellent, we will call you Cecaelia. Cecael for short, and your brother will be, James.”

After the auction, we were sent to a different and transported to our new home. The ride was better than the ship, not as long, and more sanitary. We headed to Voluntown, about an hour drive in an automobile northeast of the port.

We arrived at an eerie, but elegant, villa draped with soft blues and metallic whites, and was surrounded by acres of fertile land, asleep, under a peach and lavender sunset. It seemed like everything would be alright from here on. Just as a smile chipped at my face with the thought, it was filled with negative energy. My brother and I entered the large house through the back door, not the front, and was greeted with silence and frightened looks from other household slaves. Everyone was bruised and scarred, and they glared with worried faces that shot straight at us.

A week past, and all I did was household chores, and I wish I did them correctly. I already spilled the water bucket over the marble floor, stumbled on barstools, and broke a vase. I’m not too good at these chores, and I’m very clumsy when under pressure, but I thought a master would never harm a helper, a slave. After cleaning everything up, another household slave, Julia, pulled me aside.

She whispered,“You best be more careful around here. Don’t mess up no more you hear? Otherwise things won’t be too good for your brother and yourself. The master and the mistress don’t like mess ups, if you do they will beat you silly. I can’t say no more but I wish you luck, and I’m sorry for what's about to come...”

Julia was right, and I was certainly wrong. Once the masters got home, they looked around and were furious; red hot ferocity blew from their ears. They pulled me down to the basement and chained me to the ground facing the wall. I did nothing, I was shocked and terrified, and I didn’t know what was going to come. A loud snap and a scream came afterward. A burning sensation went through my back, and a tear dripped down my face. Ten snaps, twelve, fifteen, I couldn’t take the pain. My spine went numb, and I wished I was a cobra. I wished I could slither away and bite them back, and I wished I could see their cold bodies fall from my venom, but no. I could feel the blood dripping down my back as they continued to whip me. After thirty minutes of this torture, they told me to go to my bed, and to never make another mistake again.

I walked back to my bed place, and I fell, silenced. It was black, but somehow I was able to see my brother, and I’m thankful for that. Once I saw him, I couldn’t hold back my tears, I couldn’t hold back the pain. He knew what happened to me, and he decided that this place wasn’t right afterall. We had to escape.

We had no belongings, no extra clothes, and no food. At midnight, when everyone was asleep we crept upstairs, daint and quiet patters of footsteps echoed off the marble. We passed through large hallways, and we made it all the way to the front door in the darkness. Before creeping into the open for freedom, Julia saw us.

She whispered, “Don’t go! If you do, you will be dead!...Please!”

“We have no choice, I’m sorry,” James whispered while he dragged me by the hand. We left through the door after that, and ran. Through alleys, pavement, and grass, we kept going. After thirty minutes, and only four miles, we stopped to rest.

“I think we will be safe to sleep tonight. Are you alright? We just have to remain quiet and keep hidden for awhile okay? Everything will be alright.” James whispered. But I heard the panic in his voice. I nodded back to him. Then we laid down on cool matted down grass; it felt nice on my raw back, which was hidden from only a single layer of cloth, and we went to sleep.

I woke up to a blur, and I felt light headed. Everything was drifting, swaying, and before I was able to concentrate, I saw blood on my hands, and I could feel its drops sliding down my nose. I was in a room and there was a bright white light. After my eyes focused, I saw many windows and James was by my side, he was bleeding too. We were chained to our chairs in front of a desk, and there was an agitated man staring at us. He was waiting for something, an answer of some kind perhaps.

 He growled with rage,” Names?”

 “I’m Cecael.”

“I’m her brother, James.”

“Alright, where are you two from, what is your date of birth, and what was your birth names?” he hissed.

“We are from Guinea, Africa. But, we don’t know the rest.” exclaimed James.

“Concentrate!” he yelled. “Looks like you two are runaways from the..Carters I see. From this runaway poster’s information it doesn't seem like you two got far from home? About five, possibly six miles away? If you're trying to run away you don’t try to stop for rest, you will keep going! Idiot negroes,” he scoffed.

James pleaded,“Please don’t send us back to them! I beg of you!”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. They don’t want you back. They said you're too much of a hassle and aren't worth as much as dirt. Instead they wanted their money back, and in exchange we can take care of the you two. Because of this, you are the government's property and you will be shipped, and put to work for the army. Boy will man the sails, and the girl will clean everything. Simple enough. But I’m telling you now, they aren't very nice either. And they will show no mercy.”

That last word rung in my ear, and echoed in my head forever. Mercy. What is mercy? Is it kind? Is it worse than the masters, the Carters? Is it worse than beatings, starvation, and sickness? How could it be worse?

Once we got on the wretched ship, they immediately put us to work. James was on the sails and mopping the deck, and I was cleaning everywhere else. I only did one thing wrong, forgetting to sweep below the deck, and I got beat by the crew. Perhaps I forgot to clean below deck because I never want to step foot in a place of that name again? But it was this routine every other day, you do something wrong, you get beat. This time it was a stool that left cuts and bruises, but the next day it was a whip itself. Life on this ship was terrible. James got beat to for doing nothing wrong, he was great at everything, and they thought that it would put more man into him somehow.

One day I didn’t do what I was told because I was tired of it, I was going to get beaten anyways. Because of that, I hold regret that will stay with me for eternity, if that exists. Later that day, they took me above deck where everyone could see, even James, and they took whips and wood planks to my body. In the raw, bloody, teary, misfortune, James couldn't handle the sight any longer. He came down to stop them, yelling and screaming, for them to stop beating me, his little sister. Then, suddenly, they stopped hitting me. Aching, bleeding, and as broken as the planks I was beaten with, I turned to follow the sound that struck my ears, crackling. James was held by five men and beaten with the broken planks from my abuse. The rigid splinters of the plank’s ends were soaked in blood, and even one droplet flew across the dead sky and landed before my face. It soaked into the ground, and left its rust color behind.

James looked at me, and a tear rolled down his face. He uttered the words, “I’m sorry Cecaelia, I love you.” His voice cracked, and he screamed, ”RUN!” The cracks of breaking planks smothered his other repeated attempts of his last word. The breath was taken out of me. My life, my hope, my only motivation to keep pushing onward, my only family was gone forever.Only one thought sat with me the rest of that horrid day, I had to fulfill his last wish, I had to escape.

It took one day to plan.

At an early hour, I crept out of the slave chamber onto the deck, I wasn’t going to be caught this time. I was silent. I reached for my special bag that I had packed the day before: it stored food, clothes, and a few items to sell that I swiped from the ship. No guard was on patrol that night, for no stench of a crooked man wafted into my nose. No one was awake, for I would have felt a creek in the boards beneath my feet. Everything was going as planned. Then quick, quiet, cunning steps to the dock through the curtain of mist from the sea. Fog sat on the ship further hid my movement in the night, and my heartbeat was as loud as a drum, I continued moving. I’m was almost there, almost able to step off of that swaying sinister ship. Cautiously, I took the last step, and crouched onto the dock. I looked around, and there was no one in sight. I took a deep breath. I’m off, I’m free, but now I’m on the run...