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Narrative Slave Story – Richard Soucy
       Gwandoya felt the whip sting. He felt like a hundred snakes biting him. The man guessed that is
what one hundred lashes feel like. His sight started to fade and his life flashed before his eyes.
       Gwandoya’s parents were fighting off the invaders who were trying to steal people to sell to the
white-skin. They had to go into hiding. Gwandoya was born in hiding. He was raised to fear these white-
skinned, as well as the invaders.
         Then one day two invaders came. They were six feet tall, had dark skin, and one was holding a fire-
stick, or, as Gwandoya heard him say, gun.
        He shouted to his companion, “Chisulo, I found one. The other two are too feeble and crippled to
be of any use. How many bullets do you have?”
       “Twenty,” Chisulo said.
       The kidnapper said, “Well now, we could use this boy, but he might get mad if we shoot the other
people,” and without a moment’s hesitation he loaded two rounds into his gun.
       BAM! BAM!
       Gwandoya 's parents slumped to the ground. A pool of blood formed around them, crimson in
color. Then, Gwandoya lunged himself at the two white-skin. He did not get very far, though. Chisulo
brought out his gun and hit Gwandoya upside his head. Gwandoya, like his parents, slumped to the
ground.
        When Gwandoya came to, he was on a boat. It was very cramped, there was almost no food and
water, and people were dying off. He was very scared. He had to be on that tight, cramped boat for three
months.
       Gwandoya got off the boat. He was on a beach. He saw many dark-skinned people, and some
white-skinned. He loathed the white-skinned. They put him on the boat. They treated him like an object.
He would've rushed up on one, except for the undeniable fact he was on a leash.
        Gwandoya growled, like a savage animal. But then, what difference? The white-men thought he
was a savage animal. One of them kicked him, like one would a dog. Another one threw a stone at him.
Others joined in. Gwandoya seethed. Then Gwandoya kicked back, which was responded by a lash from
a whip.
      Gwandoya had never gotten whipped before. He yelped and touched the welt that was formed.
The white-skin thought that this was funny, so he whipped Gwandoya a second time. A yelp followed.
       Then a white-skin punched the other white-skin in the face.
       The first white-skin said to the other, “What was that for?”
       The other said, “You want to kill my slave? I will lose money.”
        Gwandoya saw he would have to go with the white-man. He fumed because he was an object.
But, Gwandoya knew that resistance was futile.
        Three weeks later, he was working in a huge field. Gwandoya was picking fluffy, white, balls of of
plants. They were called cotton. He was exhausted. Gwandoya collapsed.
        Then his master saw him. He brought out his whip.
        “A hundred lashes,” he said.
        Gwandoya knew he would die. The lashes began. Gwandoya just didn't care anymore. He roared
not out of frustration, but pure bottled up rage. Then Gwandoya slumped. He could faintly hear the sound
of a whip hitting his body, but he did not feel it. Gwandoya closed his eyes as the life slipped out of his
body.

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Narrative Slave Story

  • 1. Narrative Slave Story – Richard Soucy Gwandoya felt the whip sting. He felt like a hundred snakes biting him. The man guessed that is what one hundred lashes feel like. His sight started to fade and his life flashed before his eyes. Gwandoya’s parents were fighting off the invaders who were trying to steal people to sell to the white-skin. They had to go into hiding. Gwandoya was born in hiding. He was raised to fear these white- skinned, as well as the invaders. Then one day two invaders came. They were six feet tall, had dark skin, and one was holding a fire- stick, or, as Gwandoya heard him say, gun. He shouted to his companion, “Chisulo, I found one. The other two are too feeble and crippled to be of any use. How many bullets do you have?” “Twenty,” Chisulo said. The kidnapper said, “Well now, we could use this boy, but he might get mad if we shoot the other people,” and without a moment’s hesitation he loaded two rounds into his gun. BAM! BAM! Gwandoya 's parents slumped to the ground. A pool of blood formed around them, crimson in color. Then, Gwandoya lunged himself at the two white-skin. He did not get very far, though. Chisulo brought out his gun and hit Gwandoya upside his head. Gwandoya, like his parents, slumped to the ground. When Gwandoya came to, he was on a boat. It was very cramped, there was almost no food and water, and people were dying off. He was very scared. He had to be on that tight, cramped boat for three months. Gwandoya got off the boat. He was on a beach. He saw many dark-skinned people, and some white-skinned. He loathed the white-skinned. They put him on the boat. They treated him like an object. He would've rushed up on one, except for the undeniable fact he was on a leash. Gwandoya growled, like a savage animal. But then, what difference? The white-men thought he was a savage animal. One of them kicked him, like one would a dog. Another one threw a stone at him. Others joined in. Gwandoya seethed. Then Gwandoya kicked back, which was responded by a lash from a whip. Gwandoya had never gotten whipped before. He yelped and touched the welt that was formed. The white-skin thought that this was funny, so he whipped Gwandoya a second time. A yelp followed. Then a white-skin punched the other white-skin in the face. The first white-skin said to the other, “What was that for?” The other said, “You want to kill my slave? I will lose money.” Gwandoya saw he would have to go with the white-man. He fumed because he was an object. But, Gwandoya knew that resistance was futile. Three weeks later, he was working in a huge field. Gwandoya was picking fluffy, white, balls of of plants. They were called cotton. He was exhausted. Gwandoya collapsed. Then his master saw him. He brought out his whip. “A hundred lashes,” he said. Gwandoya knew he would die. The lashes began. Gwandoya just didn't care anymore. He roared not out of frustration, but pure bottled up rage. Then Gwandoya slumped. He could faintly hear the sound of a whip hitting his body, but he did not feel it. Gwandoya closed his eyes as the life slipped out of his body.