Civil War Shorts

Runaways: A Short Story

"Overall, all of the slaves are doing great... Uh... I don't really know what else to say, honestly. There's nothing real negative to talk abou-" I was stopped halfway through what I was saying as Abraham tripped and the tray of refreshments fell from his hands as he tried to catch himself. I was drenched with tea, and toppings from the sandwiches had made their way into my hair and clothes, staining my white shirt brown. Luckily for me, the tea had already turned cold hours ago.

"Are you okay?" I started to ask Abraham, kneeling beside him but Victor silenced me with a single hard glance.

"What was that?" Victor snarled, Abraham just looked down at his feet in an effort to hide the look of anger and annoyance that had showed up on his face. But he didn't speak and averted his eyes, knowing what was coming: a whipping.

Victor gestured to the barn and I nearly screamed at him to stop, but that would mean showing him that the cold man I pretended to be was just an act, and I couldn't risk it. But no matter what I wanted to do, or what I believed was right or wrong, I played the faithful lapdog and listened to Victor, just like always.

We walked to the barn in silence, the crunch of the leaves beneath our feet the only sound to be heard. When we stepped inside, the smell of dung and hay enveloped me and I nearly gagged on the scent so thick you could feel it.

Victor grabbed Abraham by the neck and threw him to the ground, hard enough for Abraham to gasp in pain, in front of the whipping block. Victor tied him up, yanking on the rope until Abraham nearly shrieked with pain from how tight they had been tied. Victor always liked to toy with the slaves before he whipped them. See just how much pain he could cause them before they even got whipped.

Victor grabbed the whip and thrust it at me, handle first. I hesitated for a second before taking it and he narrowed his eyes at me slightly. Abraham's eyes whispered to me: I know that you have to do this, just please make it quick. Victor walked over to Laura and did the same, offering her the whip. But she pulled the act off better than I did, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she hungrily reached for the whip.

I winced as I snapped the whip at Abraham, but this was what Victor expected to see. This was what he believed to be right. Victor stood to my right, he watched with apparent glee in his beady coal black eyes. Abraham's clothes laid in a corner of the room, kicked away in a hurry by Victor.

Once the punishment, that Victor had demanded occur, had been carried out I stepped away from Abraham. Laura, my wife, did the same, and though her face was like stone, I could tell just how much effort it took for her not to rush to Abraham's side and tend to the injuries that Victor had forced us to inflict upon him.

I plastered a wicked smile on my face, acting the part of the heartless overseer that he expected to see. I averted my eyes not wanting to look at Abraham's broken body, curled in on itself as the dark red blood flowed freely. The white scars already on his body shone with sweat against his dark skin.

I didn't want to look upon him and have Victor see the regret and sadness upon my face. If Victor, the owner of this plantation even suspected that my wife and I, his overseers had any mercy for the slaves that he employed he would have us sacked, or even hanged. I shuddered at the thought.

Victor clapped me on the back. "I expected nothing less from my top overseers." I stayed still, only allowing a small "yes, sir" to slip out of my mouth. Victor walked away, not looking back at me, satisfied.

The second the barn door closed behind him, I threw my whip to the side, it fell into a heap by his clothes, and rushed to Abraham, my wife doing the same. We held him between us as we carried him back to our house. I stepped inside the lavish abode, setting Abraham down on a leather couch in our living room..