My father was a trader, he had seven horses, some with wheels attached for carrying goods, and the others, not. He was as good a father as a bad man could be. Standing in the crowd that day, I remember seeing it all; watching as a little girl was dragged through the mud, after her father had been shot right before her eyes, in between the eyes. I remember seeing her sister cry as her clothes were torn by the soulless soldiers, watching her cower in shame and fear; when she moved east, she was immediately pushed to the west, when the west rebelled against her, the north opened its arms to receive her but quickly betrayed her and pushed her down south. The earth engulfed her in its warmth, giving her a muddy hug, providing a blanket for her bare skin; covering her shame.

My father enjoyed watching the show, just like everyone else in the crowd. I once asked him why they received such treatment, but that was last time I asked because all I could hear in his voice was the hate he felt. The next day, my father and I were in the crowd again, my fifteen and a half year old self didn't understand why, all I knew was that when I looked at the chains on their hands, I felt sick; when I saw their ribs, my eyes watered, I didn't need anyone to tell me that they had no food. They were ugly, their eyes sunken in their depths, their legs thin to obscurity and their arms no better. Ugly creatures indeed they were.

Children my age were in little chains as well, chains around their neck, chains on their feet, but I knew that while these chains seemed like little ones, to me, it probably meant the heaviest load they had ever had to carry.

On our way home, I asked myself what kind of wrong done could deserve such punishment? What kind of wrong could a little girl have done to deserve this? What kind of wrong could anyone do to deserve this? The day after, my thoughts had me wandering far from home; it wasn't until the sky darkened I realized how far I had walked and that the scene looked all too familiar. I recognized the fences; the wooden walls that divided us from them and I walked purposefully towards it. Lifting myself over the fence, I sneaked into the crowded area; somehow I wasn't afraid that they would hurt me, their sunken eyes stared at me as I passed them, their bodies too weak to attack even if they wanted to. I moved through the crowd of ugly creatures, feeling as if I was in a mass burial ground, every one of them stunk and were all shriveled up.

But something definitely caught my attention and it was the fact that even in chains, a mother found a way to hug her daughter, seemingly smiling and caressing the child's hair as she sang a sweet melody that kept me rooted to where I was, tears freely filling my eyes. A man across the room gave his son a piece of stale bread, to which the son refused, giving it back to his father and when the father refused also, he finally took it and cut it in half, giving his father the other. Bread so small and thin I wouldn't have seen it if I hadn't squinted. Three paces behind them, a man sat on the floor, with his face to the sky, smiling at the stars. I did not understand it at all, how could anyone smile, share or love in such a situation? Before I could finish my thoughts, the sound of authoritative voices and their feet drew nearer; I turned, ran and jumped back over the fence, running all the way home and never stopping once.

That night as I lay in my bed, I felt unworthy of it, the next day as I ate, I could only wonder whether that mother and child, the father and son, or the man staring at the sky, had anything to eat. As I gulped down clean water, I swallowed the guilt that followed. Every day, from that day, the mothers' soft voice rang in my ears, keeping me awake, putting me to sleep, their sunken eyes waking me up, their thinned ribs blocking my vision. We took all from them, we replaced their houses with sand so that come rain and sunshine, they could prefer neither. We ripped the gold from their hands and changed them for chains, their silver we kept for our tables. Their wealth we kept to fatten our rich while they withered into their bones, slowly fading into nothing.

But our whips had no effect on their spirit, our guns, no effect on their will to live. Our scorn made no dent in their faith, our laughter had no effect on their pride. The stones we threw at them did not hit the love they had for each other. Starving them did not make them hunger for death; it had them pushing harder the wheels of survival.

We took their houses but we could not destroy the homes they had built within themselves.
We took their happiness but we could not take their joy.
We took their wealth but their will remained. When all things departed from them, Love stayed and it strived and blossomed in their hearts, making them stronger, creating something beautiful; hope, for better days and when it was night, I snuck out into the dark, in the cold dry night, this time I took a horse with me. They showed me what love really was, what hope was comprised of, what pride entailed even in lack, so now I can show and teach them all the things they forgot. With heavy sacks attached to the horse, I rode towards them, the beautiful creatures that they were.

-PaperTraitor

I thought I'd change up the flow a little bit. Please don't forget to vote, comment your thoughts and share, it encourages😁. Thank you.