Freedom on the Fields of the Farmhouse – a short story about slavery
Dara Mohammad
14 years old
January 17, 2022
Freedom on the Fields of the Farmhouse – a short story about slavery

It was 11:57 pm.

We tiptoed through the field of tall grass that prickled our faces and perfumed the air with dew. I could make out the figure of the farmhouse from afar, its haunting dark wood illuminated by the moonlight.

“Hurry up, Aisha,” whispered mother, “We don’t have time,”

“But mother, we’re so close!” I reply, hauling my feet forward. My back aches as my stomach throbs from the kicking of the baby inside me. I nod in exhaustion, making my way ahead. I look back at the farmhouse.

“Aisha, we will make it to the village, alright? Just a little longer sweetie-”.” I gape at the farmhouse, letting out a little squeak that interrupts my mom’s contribution to our conversation. Mother turns to look back at the farmhouse, instantly realizing.

The lights of the Master’s bedroom have been turned on.

His figure is faintly illustrated through the window, and he seems to be staring at mother and me. I couldn’t make out his features from this distance, but I could imagine his aura of terror, his bloodshot, and piercing eyes of evil. He quickly leaves disappears from view.


Mother and I are jogging now, and she grabs my hand forcefully and pulls me forward as I stumble and stagger behind her in fear. We hear the very loud creak of the large farmhouse door open. The pig’s squeal and the horses neigh, their voices only being a distant cry for help. The blisters on my feet begin to ache, and I stop in my tracks.

Master’s tractor has been turned on, its voice sounds booming into the abyss of silence, haunting and crawling onto every inch of my skin. Singing evilly into the empty air, overthrowing the sound of the animals’ wails and weeps.

I look up at the moon – it frowns. The stars shed a tear as the tractor grows bigger and bigger, closer and closer, as the farmhouse seems to shrink and collapse into a ball of torture, labor, and inevitable death.


Mother and I are sprinting now, the tens of blisters on my feet popping at the touch of a twig. My unborn child inaudibly screamed into the silence, battling the roars of the tractor in the night.

The figure of a dark skin man in the tractor is more visible now, his muscles now contoured in the moonlight – it’s Master. The pigs, the horses, the baby inside me my stomach, and the tractor now battle in the nighttime, bellowing over one another, the crusade for freedom and ownership.


Mother and I are running for our lives now, the tractor running for our lives now, tearing through the fields and tall grass. But now, the village is now visible and clear, lit by the lanterns and the moon seen from afar. We stagger into the path of the village.

“The tractor must stop at the village!” Mother exclaims, barely audible from the outrage in the air that tears our ears. “He can’t run the civilization over!” Mother throws herself on the steps of a village shop, and I do likewise, but I hurtle myself onto my back.

Mother was right, and the tractor lights screamed into my eyes, and the rumbling of the wicked are now silenced. A merchant approaches us in seeming concern and curiosity as Master jumps out of the tractor, dashing towards us with a haunting expression of violent intents struck onto his face. Mother sits on her knees as the merchant stands in front of us.

“How much for these two?” The merchant asks, my heart sinks. I finally thought we had help.

“They’re not for sale,” Master replies. “But, I bought them for 400 each. I like that one,” He points to me. “14, but very… keen.”

“Please,” Mother whimpers. “Take us, or just her, to safety. If you aren’t going to take us away and keep us safe, I’d rather you put a bullet in my head!” Mother shouts, the tears now flooding down from her eyes, and the merchant scoffs.

“Very well,” The merchant smiles.


The merchant suddenly had a gun in his hand in an instant, his finger resting on the pressed trigger, smiling.

Mother and I are dying now. She lays on the gravel ground, a bullet through her head, and me, a bullet straight through my soul. Now, my heart sank, except this time, it sank into an abyss so deep that the pain couldn’t even reach it.

Master hands the merchant some money, and he grabs me by the arm. Master hauls me and pulls me back to the tractor, back to the house of inevitable death and labor. I stare at my mother’s dying body laying on the ground as the tractor reverses into the field. I just stare at her lifeless body surrounded by a pool of bright red blood, simply a helpless lump of anatomy fading in the night.

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