The hot summer sun beat down on his back. The thick August air smelled sweet with the aroma of sugarcane, which he was chopping diligently with his machete. He closed his eyes trying not to feel the sting of the sweet juice dripping into the cuts on his hands or his tired shoulder muscles. He found it was easier to focus only on his job and nothing else. He would try to cut each stalk efficiently and with precision. Hack, hack, hack, getting lost in the rhythm.
He glanced down the row to catch a glimpse of the overseer watching intently for any mistakes, any slackers. The thought of that man giving compliments made Maurice laugh, although he kept it to himself. Master Lessard, the overseer, looked down at Maurice working, said nothing, and continued on his rounds. This was comparable to a nod of approval coming from this strict white man with his neatly trimmed black moustache. Maurice decided to slow his pace now that he wasn’t being watched.
Hack…hack…hack. He found this rhythm not as easy to get lost in and he felt the floodgates of his mind open with repressed memories. All morning he had tried not to let himself think about it, but he had already admitted it to himself and once he had, it was too late to stop it. Today was the anniversary of his mother’s death. Of course he would never know the exact date, but annually Master Paré would come around looking to buy slaves. Maurice didn’t know where he was from, but he was a trader and every year, like clockwork, he would visit during the muggy month of August.
Six years earlier, on Master Paré’s third annual visit, Master Fortin, the owner of the plantation, had been looking to sell a tall, thin, frail woman who was Maurice’s mother. Of course, nobody in the family knew about this plan, because the day Adèle was going to be sold she died instead. Her illness came suddenly and during her last moments she had been coughing, vomiting, and in the heat of the day she collapsed. She had died in the fields, which disgusted Maurice most of all. She died with the whole world knowing she was a slave, she died working her fingers to the bone.
Once he saw the distinctive white speckled horse of Master Paré he knew that the anniversary of her death had come again, for the sixth time. He had only been eleven years old at the time, but from that day on he resented everyday he had to work in the same fields where his mother died. His heart grew harder, and harder, his hatred grew deeper and deeper. His hatred of the pale skin of white men, his hatred for the binding shackles of slavery. Because of slavery his mother had been worked to death under the threatening crack of a whip. Leaving him to care for his little brother who had also died a year later when he got a high fever.
Émile was six when he died, strong and tall like Maurice, with dark skin that he inherited from his mother. Both Émile and Maurice were fathered by Master Foritn, which was not unusual. On the plantation of about 200 slaves no one quite knew how many mixed children there were. Maurice’s skin reflected his white father’s, but his face perfectly mirrored his mother’s. Almond shaped-eyes, long eyelashes, a sharp set jaw, a warm smile and round cheeks. Adèle’s face was not the only trait Maurice had inherited. She passed down to all of her descendants her towering height.
Maurice tried not to think about that awful day years ago, when he realized how cruel the world could be. He found his thoughts straying to Célèste, his new wife who was pregnant with his baby. He knew they weren’t legally married, but that didn’t matter to him. _________(blah, blah, blah, don't know what to say here yet)________________. ________ –
His thoughts were interrupted by Henrí, another field hand:
“Maurice, three nights from now there is something big going on in the woods,” Henrí whispered, just barely moving his lips. Maurice looked up with his eyes, scanning to see if there was anyone in hearing distance. He didn’t move his head even the slightest inch and he never deviated from his rhythm of hack, hack, hack. Maurice and all the field hands had perfected the art of talking while working. You could never be too careful. Not only did you have to check for overseers, but even your fellow slaves couldn’t always be trusted. People were loose-lipped and some would say anything to get their freedom. Maurice and Henrí had been friends since they were younger than Émile and they trusted each other.
“Yes?” Maurice whispered back. He had the feeling the information Henrí was about to tell him was important.
“There is a meeting of slaves.” He said, “A man will be there making a prediction about the future of this colony.”
“What do I care about the future of the colony?”
“It’s about freedom.”
That got his attention.
“What do you mean?”
“The man is predicting a war, a rebellion.” Henrí continued, “it will be the biggest we have ever seen, it will end slavery.”
Maurice raised his eyebrows.
“Please come,” Henrí said. “The winds of change have started to blow.” And with that he heaved his full bundle of sugarcane over his shoulder and headed down to the next row.
Maurice stopped his endless rhythm for a second to stand upright and wipe the sweat off his forehead. Maybe it was just his imagination but he suddenly felt a slight breeze blow, churning the heavy August air.
Word Count: 980
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Draft of Rising Action
That night, after a dinner of leftover table scraps, some of the young slaves met around a campfire near the cabins. It was their tradition in the summer to gather around the fire sharing stories, laughs, and songs. Occasionally one of the house slaves would bring a stolen bottle of whiskey, smuggled under the thin fabric of her dress. They always knew not to be too rowdy, or else someone from the plantation was bound to hear them.
Maurice and Célèste walked towards the blazing fire, a beacon of light under the black night sky. The fire was in the middle of a clearing in the thick woods, you could not even see a glimmer from the main house or the road. They were walking with their arms around each other. Célèste had always found it amazing how they could still walk in a straight line, even in such a close state of embrace. She was amazed again tonight as they navigated deftly over the rocky ground, the silkiness of the soft grass brushing their feet.
There was already a gathering of about fifty slaves around the fire, including Henrí who was looking their way. He smiled at Maurice,
“I’m glad you came.”
Maurice nodded in response. It was unnecessary to talk the way they had in the field, knowing they were among friends.
“Is their anymore talk of the meeting?” Maurice asked.
Before Henrí could say anything Célèste took a step away from Maurice and crossed her arms over the curve of her stomach. Only about three months along in her pregnancy she was just beginning to show. She raised her curly eyebrows,
“Meeting?” She was obviously suspicious, especially since this was the first she heard of this.
Henrí looked back and forth between the two, bowed his head and left quietly. Maurice sighed,
“Henrí said there’s going to be a meeting in three days time. There will be a high, vodoun priest there, making a prediction about a rebellion.” He paused. “It’s said he sees a revolt that will end slavery.” He took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye. “Imagine, Célèste, freedom coming in our lifetimes. Imagine a battle strong enough to give us freedom.”
Célèste looked at the ground, trying to pry up a rock with her toe. She still had her arms crossed and her eyebrows were knitted together.
“So you are going to this meeting, then?” She asked looking up at him.
“Yes, I am.” He responded calmly, again looking her straight in the eye.
She just shook her head. “Don’t you know you are going to get yourself killed?”
“Célèste,” he said impatiently, turning his eyes away from hers for a moment. “I –“
“I’m serious Maurice,” she interrupted him. “There’s been revolts, people have died, there’s still no freedom.” She put her hands on his shoulders and softened her voice, “Do you really think it’s going to work? Do you really think it’s going to happen this time? Just because we have passion when we fight doesn’t mean anything. They have guns, Maurice. They have whips. And they have no mercy. They will kill people, they might kill you, Maurice.” Her voice was choking up, but she took a deep breath to calm herself. “I don’t think freedom is going to come now. I don’t think it’s going to come in our lifetime. I don’t think it’s going to come in the life of our baby.” Her eyes were full of tears, but they never broke away from his. “If you want to live to see her born, you don’t go to that meeting tomorrow.”
Maurice watched Célèste’s beautiful face gazing into his own intently. The firelight flickered across her cheeks. “Maurice, please don’t go to the meeting tomorrow,” she whispered pleadingly.
Maurice sighed again, still never looking away. “Célèste.” He paused. “Don’t you understand?’” He asked just pleadingly as her. “The only way our baby can live in freedom is if a war happens. The only way we can free ourselves is if we fight. I don’t like it, but it’s the way it has to be.
“I don’t want our child to live in slavery. I don’t want him to have to carry water buckets over his shoulders. I don’t want her to have to serve the white men when they have their dinner.” Their eyes were held together by some supernatural force. “Please, try and hear what I’m saying.”
“I do hear you, Maurice, I really do, but…”
“I scared of losing you,” she said in barely a whisper finally breaking their gaze as she turned her head to look into the fire.
“You won’t.” But even as he said it he was scared. What if he did die? Living would for sure be better than dying, even living in slavery. Maybe Célèste had a point. Who knew if the rumors were true. Who knew if this would be the revolt to end slavery. Should he really risk his life for something so uncertain? He thought of what would happen if he did die and left Célèste all alone to raise their child. He had to be there for them, Célèste and his unborn baby, they were all he had. How could he be there for him when he was off fighting a war? How could he live with himself if he didn’t fight? This fight may give them freedom. Freedom was the best thing he could promise them. He was torn. He looked again into Célèste’s eyes seeking some sort of answer. What should he do? He saw that she was just as confused as him. She answered anyway. Her voice was lost and solemn,
“I don’t know, Maurice, I just don’t know.”
There was a hissing sound as the icy water was dumped on top of the hot coals. A few men stomped on the ashes, throwing handfuls of dirt down to quiet the embers. Célèste had left the campfire around an hour ago, but to Maurice it could have been just minutes. There was a sick feeling at the bottom of his stomach. He knew that in the near future he would have to do something he dreaded. Whatever he decided to do would involve this reality.
As Maurice walked back to the cabins with a group of five men or so he thought of Célèste. This was the only time in his life when she wouldn’t be able to help him out. He knew she was there for him, but he would have to make this decision on his own.
His thoughts were interrupted by the voices of his companions.
“They’re coming from everywhere. All around the islands.” Said André, a short, sturdy, slave about a year older than Maurice. “Of course I couldn’t say anything about it around the fire while Pascal was around,” he continued. Pascal was known around the plantation for being Master Fortin’s spy; he would turn against his own kind for an extra scrap of bread. “This priest’s name is Dutty Boukman, he’s from Africa. Came here as a free man.”
“Does he really see the end of slavery?” Asked Thibault, a younger, darker man.
“Yes.”
“Even if he doesn’t, his prophecy will certainly spark a revolt.” Said Zacharie, the oldest of them all. “This is the beginning of the end. There are so many people coming from all around, runaways and freemen alike. There will be enough fighters with enough passion to cause a commotion.”
“Is this real then?” Maurice asked. “This meeting, it’s not like all the other’s, it will change something?”
Zacharie nodded solemnly.
“I have seen with my own eyes this Dutty Boukman, he is for real. His prophecy is real.” Zacharie said. Zacharie knew what he was talking about and everyone trusted him. And Zacharie ended up being exactly right.
Maurice felt a thrill in the bottom of his stomach where the lump of dread once was. He couldn’t help feeling excited. Although, he would still have to face a difficult decision, he knew now that freedom would be coming. With or without him people would fight and maybe someday they would win. Now he had to decide whether or not to join them.
As they walked back under the deep night sky, Maurice found out more about this gathering. Apparently it would start when the regular campfire ended. It was to take place a mile or two in the forest at the site of the old burial ground. Maurice felt the feeling of dread return once again to the bottom of his stomach. His mother was buried our there somewhere, but she had never been given a proper funeral. He knew that graves would soon be filling up, that was the cost of freedom.
After saying goodbye to his companions Maurice returned back to the cabin he and Célèste slept in along with many other slaves. He navigated his way in the dark to the pallet he and Célèste shared. He laid down next to her and listened to her breathing in the dark. It wasn’t deep and steady, it came in small spurts. He realized that she wasn’t asleep. She turned away from him but before she did he caught a glimpse of her face. Clearly illuminated in the moonlight pouring in from the doorway he saw the tracks of tears glistening on her cheeks.
Maurice decided to wait a day before he told Célèste about what he heard after the campfire. He saw the opportunity during dinnertime one night. He had been working all day, they were close to being done with the harvest of sugarcane. That meant a big celebration where there would be singing, dancing, and good food. Nothing compared to what he was eating now. He looked down at his chunk of stale bread and an under-cooked chicken breast. He had come to the cookhouse early to hopefully grab a piece of meat before his fellow field workers did. The nearly pink piece of chicken was about as big of a deck of cards and it was one of the only scraps of meat that was not eaten by the Master and his family. Maurice felt lucky to have it. He thought about the harvest celebration with the spits of roasting pig. He realized it probably wasn’t going to happen this year.
He gazed over at Célèste who was next to him leaning on the back wall of the cookhouse. She too had a piece of bread, hers fresher, and some chicken, hers a leg that had been saved before the food was sent to the main house. He always tried to get the best food for her, figuring she needed to keep her strength up because she was pregnant.
He sighed and looked at her. He watched her watching a group of children laughing and playing tag.
“Célèste,” he sighed. “This is what I think.” He paused. “I think the rebellion is going to happen no matter if we are a part of it or not. I talked to _______,________,_______ after you left last night. This meeting is the real thing. The revolution will begin soon after it. War is going to start whether we want it to or not.”
Célèste stared off into the distance, past the children playing tag.
“I know,” she said seriously. “I just want to know, are you going to fight in this war?”
“I’m not sure I have a choice.”
“What will I do?” She asked looking up at him. “If you fight how will I have this baby without you? How will I survive the war with a newborn child? How will I live without you?’
“How will you live with me?” He said desperately. “Célèste, either way you are going to have this baby and it won’t make a difference if I’m there or not. Your life will be hard, my being there won’t help. I can’t protect you.”
They looked at each other. She realized what he said was right. For once they could not be there for each other. She knew that having Maurice by her side would help even if he wouldn’t be doing anything. But he needed to fight, she couldn’t stop him from that. He didn’t even want to fight, he realized. He wanted never to leave Célèste’s side, he wanted to make a life with her and always be able to protect her. She wanted that too, but neither one of them could have it. They were torn apart from each other unwillingly.
“I think you should go to that meeting Maurice,” she said in a calm voice. A voice that had lost hope.
“I will,” he said the same way. “I think you should take care of yourself. When the revolution starts find someplace safe to stay. Get someone to help you.”
“I will.”
They both stared at the group of children playing tag. The children would have to stop playing tag eventually. They would have to grow up.
Through the thick blanket of trees Maurice could see the roaring, towering, burning flames of the fire. His callused feet worked their way over the damp forest ground like they had been doing for years. He wondered in the back of his mind if the forest ground would change because of the war. Would it get burned? Would it be stained forever with blood? It seemed that his whole world had changed since that day in the sugarcane fields when Henrí first approached him. He tried to remember what he was thinking about before that. Oh right, it had been his mother he was thinking about. He knew that slavery had killed his mother and he had just then wanted freedom to come. How could he have known how much freedom would cost?
By now he had made his way to the clearing of the old burial ground. He saw in the center of a group of men a strong, tall man with deep dark skin and large brown eyes. You could tell he was from Africa when he spoke. Maurice could not yet tell what he was saying yet. There was too much tumult from the men standing around him. There were many, many men around the campfire. In fact, he saw, there was more than one campfire. There were campfires all around the burial ground. He searched the crowds for a familiar face. He saw Henrí and moved along the perimeter of the crowd to get to him. When he got right up behind him he tapped him on the shoulder. Henrí turned around and smiled wide when he saw Maurice.
“You came,” he said in voice that seemed to suggest he knew Maurice would be coming all along. “But, you’re late.”
“I know, but what is this? I can barely hear him speak.”
“It doesn’t matter, here’s what’s going to happen: seven days from now we all will revolt at once. All around the island, or least in the northern part of the island, wherever we can word out fast enough. During the week we will be collecting weapons secretly and right when the sunsets on the seventh day we will attack without warning. Everyone will revolt all at once and they won’t be able to defend themselves. It is the most ingenious plan. This Dutty Boukman he predicted those three men would lead the rebellion.” He pointed out three, very serious looking men standing in the inner circle of the fire. “Maurice freedom is upon us. It is here now, not someday, not tomorrow: now.”
But Henrí was wrong. They had seven days. Freedom was upon them… in seven days. He had seven more days with Célèste. One week more to live in peace. Seven more precious, beautiful, cherished days. He put this thought in the back of his mind to hold onto as he turned back to the center of the fire watching the man standing beside it.
He could know hear the man clearly and realized that he was beginning a chant. Maurice heard it perfectly and others heard it too and began to chant with him. It was in his native African language, but no matter what language, any slave, anywhere, would understand this.
“freedom,”
“freedom,”
“freedom!”
“FREEDOM!”
The word rang in his ears.
Word Count: 2,720
Maurice and Célèste walked towards the blazing fire, a beacon of light under the black night sky. The fire was in the middle of a clearing in the thick woods, you could not even see a glimmer from the main house or the road. They were walking with their arms around each other. Célèste had always found it amazing how they could still walk in a straight line, even in such a close state of embrace. She was amazed again tonight as they navigated deftly over the rocky ground, the silkiness of the soft grass brushing their feet.
There was already a gathering of about fifty slaves around the fire, including Henrí who was looking their way. He smiled at Maurice,
“I’m glad you came.”
Maurice nodded in response. It was unnecessary to talk the way they had in the field, knowing they were among friends.
“Is their anymore talk of the meeting?” Maurice asked.
Before Henrí could say anything Célèste took a step away from Maurice and crossed her arms over the curve of her stomach. Only about three months along in her pregnancy she was just beginning to show. She raised her curly eyebrows,
“Meeting?” She was obviously suspicious, especially since this was the first she heard of this.
Henrí looked back and forth between the two, bowed his head and left quietly. Maurice sighed,
“Henrí said there’s going to be a meeting in three days time. There will be a high, vodoun priest there, making a prediction about a rebellion.” He paused. “It’s said he sees a revolt that will end slavery.” He took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye. “Imagine, Célèste, freedom coming in our lifetimes. Imagine a battle strong enough to give us freedom.”
Célèste looked at the ground, trying to pry up a rock with her toe. She still had her arms crossed and her eyebrows were knitted together.
“So you are going to this meeting, then?” She asked looking up at him.
“Yes, I am.” He responded calmly, again looking her straight in the eye.
She just shook her head. “Don’t you know you are going to get yourself killed?”
“Célèste,” he said impatiently, turning his eyes away from hers for a moment. “I –“
“I’m serious Maurice,” she interrupted him. “There’s been revolts, people have died, there’s still no freedom.” She put her hands on his shoulders and softened her voice, “Do you really think it’s going to work? Do you really think it’s going to happen this time? Just because we have passion when we fight doesn’t mean anything. They have guns, Maurice. They have whips. And they have no mercy. They will kill people, they might kill you, Maurice.” Her voice was choking up, but she took a deep breath to calm herself. “I don’t think freedom is going to come now. I don’t think it’s going to come in our lifetime. I don’t think it’s going to come in the life of our baby.” Her eyes were full of tears, but they never broke away from his. “If you want to live to see her born, you don’t go to that meeting tomorrow.”
Maurice watched Célèste’s beautiful face gazing into his own intently. The firelight flickered across her cheeks. “Maurice, please don’t go to the meeting tomorrow,” she whispered pleadingly.
Maurice sighed again, still never looking away. “Célèste.” He paused. “Don’t you understand?’” He asked just pleadingly as her. “The only way our baby can live in freedom is if a war happens. The only way we can free ourselves is if we fight. I don’t like it, but it’s the way it has to be.
“I don’t want our child to live in slavery. I don’t want him to have to carry water buckets over his shoulders. I don’t want her to have to serve the white men when they have their dinner.” Their eyes were held together by some supernatural force. “Please, try and hear what I’m saying.”
“I do hear you, Maurice, I really do, but…”
“I scared of losing you,” she said in barely a whisper finally breaking their gaze as she turned her head to look into the fire.
“You won’t.” But even as he said it he was scared. What if he did die? Living would for sure be better than dying, even living in slavery. Maybe Célèste had a point. Who knew if the rumors were true. Who knew if this would be the revolt to end slavery. Should he really risk his life for something so uncertain? He thought of what would happen if he did die and left Célèste all alone to raise their child. He had to be there for them, Célèste and his unborn baby, they were all he had. How could he be there for him when he was off fighting a war? How could he live with himself if he didn’t fight? This fight may give them freedom. Freedom was the best thing he could promise them. He was torn. He looked again into Célèste’s eyes seeking some sort of answer. What should he do? He saw that she was just as confused as him. She answered anyway. Her voice was lost and solemn,
“I don’t know, Maurice, I just don’t know.”
There was a hissing sound as the icy water was dumped on top of the hot coals. A few men stomped on the ashes, throwing handfuls of dirt down to quiet the embers. Célèste had left the campfire around an hour ago, but to Maurice it could have been just minutes. There was a sick feeling at the bottom of his stomach. He knew that in the near future he would have to do something he dreaded. Whatever he decided to do would involve this reality.
As Maurice walked back to the cabins with a group of five men or so he thought of Célèste. This was the only time in his life when she wouldn’t be able to help him out. He knew she was there for him, but he would have to make this decision on his own.
His thoughts were interrupted by the voices of his companions.
“They’re coming from everywhere. All around the islands.” Said André, a short, sturdy, slave about a year older than Maurice. “Of course I couldn’t say anything about it around the fire while Pascal was around,” he continued. Pascal was known around the plantation for being Master Fortin’s spy; he would turn against his own kind for an extra scrap of bread. “This priest’s name is Dutty Boukman, he’s from Africa. Came here as a free man.”
“Does he really see the end of slavery?” Asked Thibault, a younger, darker man.
“Yes.”
“Even if he doesn’t, his prophecy will certainly spark a revolt.” Said Zacharie, the oldest of them all. “This is the beginning of the end. There are so many people coming from all around, runaways and freemen alike. There will be enough fighters with enough passion to cause a commotion.”
“Is this real then?” Maurice asked. “This meeting, it’s not like all the other’s, it will change something?”
Zacharie nodded solemnly.
“I have seen with my own eyes this Dutty Boukman, he is for real. His prophecy is real.” Zacharie said. Zacharie knew what he was talking about and everyone trusted him. And Zacharie ended up being exactly right.
Maurice felt a thrill in the bottom of his stomach where the lump of dread once was. He couldn’t help feeling excited. Although, he would still have to face a difficult decision, he knew now that freedom would be coming. With or without him people would fight and maybe someday they would win. Now he had to decide whether or not to join them.
As they walked back under the deep night sky, Maurice found out more about this gathering. Apparently it would start when the regular campfire ended. It was to take place a mile or two in the forest at the site of the old burial ground. Maurice felt the feeling of dread return once again to the bottom of his stomach. His mother was buried our there somewhere, but she had never been given a proper funeral. He knew that graves would soon be filling up, that was the cost of freedom.
After saying goodbye to his companions Maurice returned back to the cabin he and Célèste slept in along with many other slaves. He navigated his way in the dark to the pallet he and Célèste shared. He laid down next to her and listened to her breathing in the dark. It wasn’t deep and steady, it came in small spurts. He realized that she wasn’t asleep. She turned away from him but before she did he caught a glimpse of her face. Clearly illuminated in the moonlight pouring in from the doorway he saw the tracks of tears glistening on her cheeks.
Maurice decided to wait a day before he told Célèste about what he heard after the campfire. He saw the opportunity during dinnertime one night. He had been working all day, they were close to being done with the harvest of sugarcane. That meant a big celebration where there would be singing, dancing, and good food. Nothing compared to what he was eating now. He looked down at his chunk of stale bread and an under-cooked chicken breast. He had come to the cookhouse early to hopefully grab a piece of meat before his fellow field workers did. The nearly pink piece of chicken was about as big of a deck of cards and it was one of the only scraps of meat that was not eaten by the Master and his family. Maurice felt lucky to have it. He thought about the harvest celebration with the spits of roasting pig. He realized it probably wasn’t going to happen this year.
He gazed over at Célèste who was next to him leaning on the back wall of the cookhouse. She too had a piece of bread, hers fresher, and some chicken, hers a leg that had been saved before the food was sent to the main house. He always tried to get the best food for her, figuring she needed to keep her strength up because she was pregnant.
He sighed and looked at her. He watched her watching a group of children laughing and playing tag.
“Célèste,” he sighed. “This is what I think.” He paused. “I think the rebellion is going to happen no matter if we are a part of it or not. I talked to _______,________,_______ after you left last night. This meeting is the real thing. The revolution will begin soon after it. War is going to start whether we want it to or not.”
Célèste stared off into the distance, past the children playing tag.
“I know,” she said seriously. “I just want to know, are you going to fight in this war?”
“I’m not sure I have a choice.”
“What will I do?” She asked looking up at him. “If you fight how will I have this baby without you? How will I survive the war with a newborn child? How will I live without you?’
“How will you live with me?” He said desperately. “Célèste, either way you are going to have this baby and it won’t make a difference if I’m there or not. Your life will be hard, my being there won’t help. I can’t protect you.”
They looked at each other. She realized what he said was right. For once they could not be there for each other. She knew that having Maurice by her side would help even if he wouldn’t be doing anything. But he needed to fight, she couldn’t stop him from that. He didn’t even want to fight, he realized. He wanted never to leave Célèste’s side, he wanted to make a life with her and always be able to protect her. She wanted that too, but neither one of them could have it. They were torn apart from each other unwillingly.
“I think you should go to that meeting Maurice,” she said in a calm voice. A voice that had lost hope.
“I will,” he said the same way. “I think you should take care of yourself. When the revolution starts find someplace safe to stay. Get someone to help you.”
“I will.”
They both stared at the group of children playing tag. The children would have to stop playing tag eventually. They would have to grow up.
Through the thick blanket of trees Maurice could see the roaring, towering, burning flames of the fire. His callused feet worked their way over the damp forest ground like they had been doing for years. He wondered in the back of his mind if the forest ground would change because of the war. Would it get burned? Would it be stained forever with blood? It seemed that his whole world had changed since that day in the sugarcane fields when Henrí first approached him. He tried to remember what he was thinking about before that. Oh right, it had been his mother he was thinking about. He knew that slavery had killed his mother and he had just then wanted freedom to come. How could he have known how much freedom would cost?
By now he had made his way to the clearing of the old burial ground. He saw in the center of a group of men a strong, tall man with deep dark skin and large brown eyes. You could tell he was from Africa when he spoke. Maurice could not yet tell what he was saying yet. There was too much tumult from the men standing around him. There were many, many men around the campfire. In fact, he saw, there was more than one campfire. There were campfires all around the burial ground. He searched the crowds for a familiar face. He saw Henrí and moved along the perimeter of the crowd to get to him. When he got right up behind him he tapped him on the shoulder. Henrí turned around and smiled wide when he saw Maurice.
“You came,” he said in voice that seemed to suggest he knew Maurice would be coming all along. “But, you’re late.”
“I know, but what is this? I can barely hear him speak.”
“It doesn’t matter, here’s what’s going to happen: seven days from now we all will revolt at once. All around the island, or least in the northern part of the island, wherever we can word out fast enough. During the week we will be collecting weapons secretly and right when the sunsets on the seventh day we will attack without warning. Everyone will revolt all at once and they won’t be able to defend themselves. It is the most ingenious plan. This Dutty Boukman he predicted those three men would lead the rebellion.” He pointed out three, very serious looking men standing in the inner circle of the fire. “Maurice freedom is upon us. It is here now, not someday, not tomorrow: now.”
But Henrí was wrong. They had seven days. Freedom was upon them… in seven days. He had seven more days with Célèste. One week more to live in peace. Seven more precious, beautiful, cherished days. He put this thought in the back of his mind to hold onto as he turned back to the center of the fire watching the man standing beside it.
He could know hear the man clearly and realized that he was beginning a chant. Maurice heard it perfectly and others heard it too and began to chant with him. It was in his native African language, but no matter what language, any slave, anywhere, would understand this.
“freedom,”
“freedom,”
“freedom!”
“FREEDOM!”
The word rang in his ears.
Word Count: 2,720
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Plot Outline
Okay, I kind of changed the plot a little bit when I started writing. I cut the grandmother out altogether. I also cut the little brother out. So any parts you read with Grandmother or little brother I'm not going to write about. The point is that Célèste is all he has, he doesn't have any other family.
Setting: In the French colony known as Santo Domingue (later known as Haiti) in the summer of 1791. In the North-Eastern part of the country on a plantation (near Cap-Haïtien). Main character: Maurice Fortin a slave on a sugarcane plantation. 17 years old, strong and tall, light brown skin. His family includes his Grandmother, who is 60, and his 10 year-old little brother. He was born in Haiti and so was his mother who died from some unknown illness. His father is the slave-master. His Grandmother was taken from Africa. Another character is Célèste Savard who is also 17 and pregnant with his baby.
Exposition: Begins with him working in the fields and realizing it is around the time his mother died 6 years ago. He then hears a rumor form his fellow slaves that people are traveling into the forest nesr the plantation to hear Dutty Boukman, who was planning an extraordinary vodoun ceremony, where he would predict something unbelievable. That night when they are sleeping in the slave cabins Maurice tells his Grandmother he is going to the ceremony and she is vehemently against it, they argue. He talks about it with Célèste who at first disagrees with him going, but he convinces her.
Rising Action: He sets off for the forest in the middle of the night with a lot of other slaves. He doesn't realize his little brother follows him. We he does realize he sends him home after a big arguement. Then the ceremony takes place which is a big part of the rising action.
Climax: The vodoun ceremony creates a feeling of invincibility among the slaves and Maurice and the slaves he works with run back through the jungle to the plantation trying to revolt and kill the slave-master. Along the way he runs into a little girl, a friend of his brother's. He ignores her running right past, but he looks back and sees one of the overseers from the plantation run into the girl as well. The white man looks straight into her eyes and shoots her in the heart. Maurice is horrified and pukes into the bushes.
Falling Action: Trying to run away from what he has seen he searches for Célèste and his Grandmother. He finds Célèste with his little brother. They are trying to escape during the chaos, trying to run away and free themselves. He asks where his grandmother is, but Célèste says she has been beaten to death. The three of them flee the fighting to head for the nearest city, Cap Francais (the capital, later called Cap-Haïtien). the falling action takes place through their three day journey as they see the effects of the slave revolt.
Resolution: When the trio enters Cap Francais they see that the slave rebellions also happened there and they see runaway slaves trying to organize an army. They also find that the French government has displayed the head of Dutty Boukman. It is then that Maurice realizes what he was meant to do. He knows he has to fight in this war and he knows he is a soldier.
The flow of my plot conflict is more questions to answers or ignorance to knowledge than anything else. My story starts out peacefully, but ends in the beginning of a war. My character starts out not knowing what his place is or what he can do to help his people, but by the end he figures it out. The external conflict of this story is the beginning of the Haitian revolution and the slaves fighting to overthrow the French after many years of conflict between them. The internal conflict is one man's dilemma of protecting his family vs. fighting for his rights. During the climax he realizes that he has to fight for his people, something changes within him even if he doesn't realize it yet. By the end of the story he knows that the revolution is upon him and his life is going to be forever impacted by the external conflicts. As for his inward dilemma deciding between taking care of his family or fighting in the revolution he knows he has to do his best to do both.
Setting: In the French colony known as Santo Domingue (later known as Haiti) in the summer of 1791. In the North-Eastern part of the country on a plantation (near Cap-Haïtien). Main character: Maurice Fortin a slave on a sugarcane plantation. 17 years old, strong and tall, light brown skin. His family includes his Grandmother, who is 60, and his 10 year-old little brother. He was born in Haiti and so was his mother who died from some unknown illness. His father is the slave-master. His Grandmother was taken from Africa. Another character is Célèste Savard who is also 17 and pregnant with his baby.
Exposition: Begins with him working in the fields and realizing it is around the time his mother died 6 years ago. He then hears a rumor form his fellow slaves that people are traveling into the forest nesr the plantation to hear Dutty Boukman, who was planning an extraordinary vodoun ceremony, where he would predict something unbelievable. That night when they are sleeping in the slave cabins Maurice tells his Grandmother he is going to the ceremony and she is vehemently against it, they argue. He talks about it with Célèste who at first disagrees with him going, but he convinces her.
Rising Action: He sets off for the forest in the middle of the night with a lot of other slaves. He doesn't realize his little brother follows him. We he does realize he sends him home after a big arguement. Then the ceremony takes place which is a big part of the rising action.
Climax: The vodoun ceremony creates a feeling of invincibility among the slaves and Maurice and the slaves he works with run back through the jungle to the plantation trying to revolt and kill the slave-master. Along the way he runs into a little girl, a friend of his brother's. He ignores her running right past, but he looks back and sees one of the overseers from the plantation run into the girl as well. The white man looks straight into her eyes and shoots her in the heart. Maurice is horrified and pukes into the bushes.
Falling Action: Trying to run away from what he has seen he searches for Célèste and his Grandmother. He finds Célèste with his little brother. They are trying to escape during the chaos, trying to run away and free themselves. He asks where his grandmother is, but Célèste says she has been beaten to death. The three of them flee the fighting to head for the nearest city, Cap Francais (the capital, later called Cap-Haïtien). the falling action takes place through their three day journey as they see the effects of the slave revolt.
Resolution: When the trio enters Cap Francais they see that the slave rebellions also happened there and they see runaway slaves trying to organize an army. They also find that the French government has displayed the head of Dutty Boukman. It is then that Maurice realizes what he was meant to do. He knows he has to fight in this war and he knows he is a soldier.
The flow of my plot conflict is more questions to answers or ignorance to knowledge than anything else. My story starts out peacefully, but ends in the beginning of a war. My character starts out not knowing what his place is or what he can do to help his people, but by the end he figures it out. The external conflict of this story is the beginning of the Haitian revolution and the slaves fighting to overthrow the French after many years of conflict between them. The internal conflict is one man's dilemma of protecting his family vs. fighting for his rights. During the climax he realizes that he has to fight for his people, something changes within him even if he doesn't realize it yet. By the end of the story he knows that the revolution is upon him and his life is going to be forever impacted by the external conflicts. As for his inward dilemma deciding between taking care of his family or fighting in the revolution he knows he has to do his best to do both.
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