Nolita Fairytale

I am Nolita. My Mother told me that she wanted an Italian name for her first-born. If it was a girl; it would be Nolita and if a boy, it would be Benetto. My mother thinks it is a great name and would often tell father; father would scoff and worry on what we would eat after nightfall instead. Mother stays at home, taking care of me and the house. She once said that before I came, she would accept housework from people across town – and once finish – she would come down to see and wait for father at the fields. Father works in a sugar cane plantation together with our neighbors. He would wake up before day break and be ready for work. Going to the field, he brings his sickle and leaves Mother with a kiss on the cheek.
The year is 1899, we live in a town in Mississippi. It was the year of knowledge and mediocrity, a time of trailblazing innovations and strangling traditions; in other words it was a battle of changes and beliefs.
You see, our family has been branded as those “colored” people from the south, those coming from a second-class race. Others – those who feel we deserved a more ‘proper’ name, would call us “negro” or “nigger”. At that time, I did not know that it was such a befouling word if it is thrown at someone. Other children, those who tag themselves as ‘whites’ would usually call me such names, I did not wholly care because I was determined not to make any kind of connection. You see, I am quite jealous because they can afford and go to school. I, on the other hand has been self-taught by my mother since the day that I could hardly remember.
I grew anxious and weary because of what has been happening in-regards with those other children as time passed by. The other day, they tried to hurt our cow that we use to generate fresh milk, sometimes, they would mutilate and destroy my Mother’s garden and then run of laughing and howling insults. This has made my Mother really sad. Mother really loved that garden, she would tend to it everyday and see that the roses bloom perfectly. Most recently, they tried to break into our house, we did not know why, but my Father was very angry with those children and swore to teach them a lesson one of these days.
One blood red sunset, while I was headed home. I noticed that those children were tracking the same direction as I did. A bit apprehensive but still unconcerned, I still continued my way. Until I noticed that they were steadily gaining speed towards me, my heart began to race so I began to run. I ran away from the dirt road because of panic, I was not able to lose them because of my frail stature, compared to their well-built frame. Although I knew that odds were against me. I began to sprint. Suddenly, I felt a sudden lost of balance of my body, I feel face down upon the dirt, taste of blood and loam registering upon my tongue. I tried to get-up, but to only fall in vain. I hear the other children’s heavy footstep as they surround me. One of them hooked his foot upon my side and lifted me up, I was facing the ruby red sunset. Although I was not sure if it was; my vision was beginning to wane after blood started trickling from my forehead. I felt lightheaded, it was only a short while when I began to fall asleep, thoughts of Mother and Father as I await my emptied wake.

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