Wrists bled, shackles clank and the rhythm of the wind hummed through the yard. And as is common within a drama, a ball of dust toppled through.
Men stood conversing with one another of work gone by, the stage was set and Old man Nickson stood upon it.
“Now listen hear ya’ll, this here is the finest nigga collection this side of the Mississippi” His voice echoed around the barn where the slaves waited for their sentence.
“You don’t think they’ll separate us do you Ba’badean?” Resoles soft voice beaten back from years at the end of a whip and the bottom of a boot, whispered amongst the huddled slaves.
“Now, all that I’m asking from ya’ll is that, there be no punching or a’ kick’en when someone loses a bid…” Nicksons voice rang through the dusty air and into Resoles already flailing hope. “Especially none of that donkey lighten business that happen on Mr Sherlys ranch a few weeks back, do’ya hear?”
“Now Child…” Ba’badean adjusted her collar as she glanced at the guards whom seemed to be enjoying their swigs of moon-shine more than their jobs, which is a totally acceptable form of behaviour for one whom wears leather boots with spurs, “If I have said this once, then I have said it a hundred times, ‘don’t go running your mind before anything actually happens’ you’re gonna put us all down more than we already are.” Ba’badean shifted from one foot to the other “but yes child, I don’t think we’ll be seeing one another any time soon.”
“Alright Bring em out!” Nicksons gavel like voice slammed Resoles already broken hope behind bars and threw away the key.
The two guards kicked up their boots, hauled the procession of slaves from behind the barn, past the crowd of wind beaten faces and up upon the stage, Resole glanced at the abyss and then back down to her feet.
“Now look at this ee’r strappin young lad, all the way from the salt mines past Cleveland, he’ll be a good’en for any yee here lookin for a heavy lifter.” Nicksons voiced carried past the crowd and fell upon an unsuspecting lone ranger whom seemed to be rather enjoying their own ominous aura as he lent against his horse in the shade of the saloon.
“SOLD!! Mr Pea’dibble, you are a man of excellent taste” Nickson shook the rugged hand Mr Pea’dibble as he handed over documentation and a chain.
The lone ranger spat, prodded the dirt of which he spat upon and with an unsuspecting step full of justice, stepped in horse sh**.
“Now, look’y hee’r, a fine fine house maid, good for all yall who want to help ya misses with her wifely duties.” Nicksons arm wrapped over the shoulders of Resole,
“Now let’s start the bidding.”
Resole glanced the horizon of hands rising and falling like a forest full of termites.
The lone ranger after furiously...