2008 Woodie Awards
White Fire
Jackie Gerson
Issue date: 11/29/07 Section: Visions and Voices
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Black rope glimmers in the bright sunlight, appearing as a dark snake streaking through the air. A bystander might contemplate its beauty, citing its stark contrast to the pale blue of the cloudless sky. He might be awed by the sheer elegance of the landscape: the golden rows of crops, rich green grass, and rolling fields of the distant horizon, distinctly visible on this clear day. The fresh smell in the air, clean and crisp, might bring a smile to his face, crinkling the etched lines of his suntanned body, as his eyes squint into the bright daylight.
The rope cracks down, biting into a black girl's back - my back. Already deeply burned by the constant sun raging above, my skin is sensitive to any touch. The brutal speed of the whip causes blood to drip down my back, tickling me, as it oozes away from the deep cut. A white fire flashes in my view, pain floods my body, nauseating me. Vomit comes into my mouth, but I swallow it, the usually horrible taste associated with throw-up void in my moment of panic. I bite my lip to hold off the oncoming scream, allowing no sound to echo in the silence that will disclose my frailty. My entire body aches from the cruel heat mixed with the sting of the whip. The faces of my friends blur before my eyes; sometimes I see double, sometimes nothing at all. They stand in a perfectly straight line, at attention, ready to heed anything the master orders. At the moment, they stare at me. Their faces are solemn, yet they wince each time I am beaten. Wisdom is impressed in many of their faces, knowledge learned from the many years of keeping their ideas to themselves. All, even three-year-old Anna, have experienced torture, but never as vile as this. I attempt to smile at them, to show that I am okay.
Nevertheless, just as I try to reassure them, the black serpent strikes again, sending spasms of steady pain across my body. Still, I do not admit defeat. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a stream of blood dripping from my parched lips onto the beige crate I am lying on, and then all becomes a vast darkness from which I am unable to escape, as my past enfolds into the abominable present.
The rope cracks down, biting into a black girl's back - my back. Already deeply burned by the constant sun raging above, my skin is sensitive to any touch. The brutal speed of the whip causes blood to drip down my back, tickling me, as it oozes away from the deep cut. A white fire flashes in my view, pain floods my body, nauseating me. Vomit comes into my mouth, but I swallow it, the usually horrible taste associated with throw-up void in my moment of panic. I bite my lip to hold off the oncoming scream, allowing no sound to echo in the silence that will disclose my frailty. My entire body aches from the cruel heat mixed with the sting of the whip. The faces of my friends blur before my eyes; sometimes I see double, sometimes nothing at all. They stand in a perfectly straight line, at attention, ready to heed anything the master orders. At the moment, they stare at me. Their faces are solemn, yet they wince each time I am beaten. Wisdom is impressed in many of their faces, knowledge learned from the many years of keeping their ideas to themselves. All, even three-year-old Anna, have experienced torture, but never as vile as this. I attempt to smile at them, to show that I am okay.
Nevertheless, just as I try to reassure them, the black serpent strikes again, sending spasms of steady pain across my body. Still, I do not admit defeat. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a stream of blood dripping from my parched lips onto the beige crate I am lying on, and then all becomes a vast darkness from which I am unable to escape, as my past enfolds into the abominable present.
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