Nyame watched as the darkened sky transitioned from dark blue and purple to tints of red and orange over the horizon as she pinned Mrs. Bailey's nightgowns to the line. She breathed in the crisp fresh morning air, and took in the serenity of the land. It was still early but she knew it wouldn't be long before Busha and his wife were up. She couldn't appreciate the sunrise, as she had to have breakfast prepared for them. As she pinned the last of the clothes she picked up the wicker basket and placed it on her head. She turned around to see Johnson, the Busha's son watching her from the back porch. He did this every morning, maybe it's because it's the only time that he wouldn't get caught. Before she could greet him in her thick African accent, she heard the whip crack. But it wasn't time yet, Nyame thought. After a second crack that echoed from the valley she heard a wail as one of the enslaved cried out in agony. She was never whipped, as she was so young, mostly men, runaways, thieves and rule breakers were punished in such a manner. Nyame was smarter than that. She knew that this was her life, this was all she knew from when she was yanked from her mother's teat. Her chocolate skin, full lips and round nose were what she and every other slave was reduced to in the eyes of the white man. Nothing more than free labour. Free only because of the fear that they quickly drilled into them. But Johnson was different. His eyes were kind, his words spoke no evilness, and his actions weren't cruel.  His face reflected the same pain that was etched on her face as she watched her naked "brother" being hauled by his arms up the hill. The sun was beginning to rise so the land was slowly being illuminated. She could see the lashings on his back. His body was limp and lifeless. They picked him up and tossed him into the back of a carriage that was stationed next to an apple tree. Busha brushed off his hands as if they were dirty and started his ascend up the hill. Busha invoked fear in both her and Johnson. Her hands started to shake and she instinctively took two steps back as he stepped up onto the wooden deck. He greeted his son before turning to Nyame. "Had to teach the dogs a lesson, not to run away" he said staring down at her.

"Is he dead?" Johnson asked, his voice shaking.

"He was weak anyway. I'm expecting some new ones tomorrow so it's not a loss. Pay attention son, you'll be in charge some day"

"What are you doing still standing here?!" He barked. "Where's my breakfast cunt?" Nyame couldn't speak.  She stood there quaking in fear. He raised his hand to slap her. She closed her eyes and winced preparing for the blow. It never came. She opened her eyes to see that Johnson had grabbed his wrist mid strike.

"What are you doing you twat?" He questioned his son, confused by his action.

"Let me teach her a lesson" he said his voice serious and threatening.

"That's alright"he said yanking his arm from his son's grasp as easily as sliding a hot knife through butter.

"She's got work to do. You can slap her around as much as you like after she's done". He stepped inside and Nyame let out a breath she was holding.

"Are you ok?" Johnson whispered. She only nodded before rushing inside to start breakfast. She'd never make it late again.