Fitzgerald Compson
Just some dude who loves writing.
So I gave up on this novel because of how undisputedly horrible it is. Enjoy I guess:
Black And White
Set 1816.
Texas
Chapter One: The New House
His eyes could barely stay awake. Pain was his legs. Aching was his chest. And broken was his brain. He could scarcely walk without stumbling. And even a simple stumble would result in a simple beating. And a simple beating would result in probable death. And a probable death would result in your body being feasted on by maggots.
He shivered, not wanting to be torn apart by filthy maggots. His leg sprang upwards and his entire body abruptly dissolved into a rush of adrenaline as he began running forward, only to feel the hard metal of the chains pull back against his neck, and the harsh swipe of the whip against his fragile back.
“Move it!”
He groaned in excruciatingly insane labour. He forced his body to take a stride forward before he finally gasped and fell to the floor. He couldn’t take it anymore. He had been walking for 6 hours. His feet felt numb. The men above loomed over him like a group of crows.
“Move damnit!”
“Aye, look. We’re here. Make the others carry ‘im.”
The other slaves were slammed across the face, they got the message pretty quickly. Two of them dropped down and lifted him up immediately and began carrying him up to the house. It was torture.
They finally made it and dropped him directly into the mud. He spluttered and used a sheathing fork to steady himself up. It was only then he realised that he was near a brick house.
“AYE! AYE! GET YER FILTH OFFA THIS HOUSE.”
The man cracked his whip mid air which prompted him to fall backwards into the mud due to fear. They kicked him in the back and pulled him upwards and into the house.
There were two young girls, one was wearing an 18th century dress while the other was wearing a simple red dress with an overly large bra. There was a man standing next to them, he wore grey trousers with a unusually strange top coat. He had a suit underneath and a tie with a bowler hat on top. There was also a woman next to him, wearing a pale dress. She seemed nervous, on the edge. As if it was terrifying to see an African American.
“Hello!” The young girl exclaimed, the man behind him smiled and grabbed the back of the neck. It was confusing at first to see what he was doing, until she reached behind and pulled his hand away, rubbing it in pain. He was squeezing the back of her neck.
“Mornin’ sir. Missis. Brought ‘em cargo rights ‘a here. Sellin’ five ‘o em.”
“Ain’t it professional to sell nine?”
“In yer dreams.”
He chuckled and walked towards the slaves. Slamming his foot on some of their bare feet just for the heck of it.
“Slave number one. Fast, agile. Got ‘im a good muscle. Sellin’ it for four cents.”
“Slave number two. Ain’t too fast but ain’t too slow. Got a attitude that needs a-fixin’. Sellin’ it for one cent.”
“Slave number three. Mah favourite, fastest, strongest and smartest ‘o them all. Can get ten crops out in a matter ‘o seconds. Sellin’ it for six cents.”
“Slave number four. Like slave number one. I think ya can figure out the rest on yer own.”
“Hmm, I’ll take…”
He moved forward to one of the slaves. The slave closed his eyes and waited.
“This one.”
“Aye, three cents.”
“Deal.”
He ducked his hand deep into his pockets and pulled out three large coins. Shoving them in the mans hand. He nodded his head and shouted at the other slaves to move on.
The young girl jumped upwards in joy and ran forward
“I’m gonna name you Thomas!”
“It’s done then. Thomas. A good name indeed sweetheart.” He said, cooing her with a little tickle on her armpits, she giggled and quickly scurried off into the other room. Thomas wondered if they were friends. Or sisters. It’d make more sense for them to be sisters. The man grabbed him by the overalls and dragged him outside. Shoving a pitchfork into his hand.
“Since yer gettin’ pretty wi’ mah girl, ya can start by forkin’ the pig mess.”
Thomas nodded quickly and rushed over to the pig crap. He stared at it for 2 seconds and then proceeded to slam his pitch fork directly into the pig mess, it squelched and made a disgustingly unusual sound. He scrunched up his face and lifted the fork upwards, it didn’t lift upwards. Only a little bit of mess stuck to it.
Black And White
Set 1816.
Texas
Chapter One: The New House
His eyes could barely stay awake. Pain was his legs. Aching was his chest. And broken was his brain. He could scarcely walk without stumbling. And even a simple stumble would result in a simple beating. And a simple beating would result in probable death. And a probable death would result in your body being feasted on by maggots.
He shivered, not wanting to be torn apart by filthy maggots. His leg sprang upwards and his entire body abruptly dissolved into a rush of adrenaline as he began running forward, only to feel the hard metal of the chains pull back against his neck, and the harsh swipe of the whip against his fragile back.
“Move it!”
He groaned in excruciatingly insane labour. He forced his body to take a stride forward before he finally gasped and fell to the floor. He couldn’t take it anymore. He had been walking for 6 hours. His feet felt numb. The men above loomed over him like a group of crows.
“Move damnit!”
“Aye, look. We’re here. Make the others carry ‘im.”
The other slaves were slammed across the face, they got the message pretty quickly. Two of them dropped down and lifted him up immediately and began carrying him up to the house. It was torture.
They finally made it and dropped him directly into the mud. He spluttered and used a sheathing fork to steady himself up. It was only then he realised that he was near a brick house.
“AYE! AYE! GET YER FILTH OFFA THIS HOUSE.”
The man cracked his whip mid air which prompted him to fall backwards into the mud due to fear. They kicked him in the back and pulled him upwards and into the house.
There were two young girls, one was wearing an 18th century dress while the other was wearing a simple red dress with an overly large bra. There was a man standing next to them, he wore grey trousers with a unusually strange top coat. He had a suit underneath and a tie with a bowler hat on top. There was also a woman next to him, wearing a pale dress. She seemed nervous, on the edge. As if it was terrifying to see an African American.
“Hello!” The young girl exclaimed, the man behind him smiled and grabbed the back of the neck. It was confusing at first to see what he was doing, until she reached behind and pulled his hand away, rubbing it in pain. He was squeezing the back of her neck.
“Mornin’ sir. Missis. Brought ‘em cargo rights ‘a here. Sellin’ five ‘o em.”
“Ain’t it professional to sell nine?”
“In yer dreams.”
He chuckled and walked towards the slaves. Slamming his foot on some of their bare feet just for the heck of it.
“Slave number one. Fast, agile. Got ‘im a good muscle. Sellin’ it for four cents.”
“Slave number two. Ain’t too fast but ain’t too slow. Got a attitude that needs a-fixin’. Sellin’ it for one cent.”
“Slave number three. Mah favourite, fastest, strongest and smartest ‘o them all. Can get ten crops out in a matter ‘o seconds. Sellin’ it for six cents.”
“Slave number four. Like slave number one. I think ya can figure out the rest on yer own.”
“Hmm, I’ll take…”
He moved forward to one of the slaves. The slave closed his eyes and waited.
“This one.”
“Aye, three cents.”
“Deal.”
He ducked his hand deep into his pockets and pulled out three large coins. Shoving them in the mans hand. He nodded his head and shouted at the other slaves to move on.
The young girl jumped upwards in joy and ran forward
“I’m gonna name you Thomas!”
“It’s done then. Thomas. A good name indeed sweetheart.” He said, cooing her with a little tickle on her armpits, she giggled and quickly scurried off into the other room. Thomas wondered if they were friends. Or sisters. It’d make more sense for them to be sisters. The man grabbed him by the overalls and dragged him outside. Shoving a pitchfork into his hand.
“Since yer gettin’ pretty wi’ mah girl, ya can start by forkin’ the pig mess.”
Thomas nodded quickly and rushed over to the pig crap. He stared at it for 2 seconds and then proceeded to slam his pitch fork directly into the pig mess, it squelched and made a disgustingly unusual sound. He scrunched up his face and lifted the fork upwards, it didn’t lift upwards. Only a little bit of mess stuck to it.
