His heart pounded, methodically to the chirping of the birds. A good morning’s sweat rolled down his left cheek. The sensation of wet morning dew covered the bottom of his ever so torn feet. His hair was ebony black; his eyes were plush and brimming with bliss. A young Richard Larose sat on his patio, with a cup of warm milk in hand. His cheeks were chubby, blush and pale. The Larose home lay on a lake bed, the waters warm and comforting. Richards’s father, Harrington calmly paced towards the cabin, drenched with crisp water after a morning’s bath. As he walked he could feel the robust air fluttering against his cheeks, his hairs on his neck stood erect. “Richey it is time for you to study, those books don’t get read themselves.” Harrington declared. Young Rich did not say a word yet he did follow the command. Afterwards, Rich’s mother, Janice, peered out the door for declaring that Breakfast was served. The meal was to be of fresh laid eggs and cornbread, a meal for kings! Rich sat down next to his father with out hesitation. “Richey, why don’t you sit next to Lawrence, you two never seem to get along.” Lawrence, the family butler snickered at the remark and gestured for Richard to sit by his side. “Harrington” Janie said, “How can the boy get along with dirty filthy illiterate pig”
“You are right dear. Why waste the prize pig for morning ham why don’t we just slaughter that filthy animal.” Harington shouted. As he did pieces of cornbread flew from his mouth onto Lawrence’s brow. Lawrence made no remark, yet he did make notice of the hurt it inflicted onto him.
After a long day’s work filled of chores, Rich walked into the cabin awaiting supper. “Were are father and mother?” He questioned the butler. Lawrence looked at him with his stone cold eyes, his black skin gleamed. His face became more prominent as he proceed closer to the boy, his hair reflecting the night’s lit candle. “They are nowhere, Quick! Eat your supper! You dirty scum.” Richard gazed upon a plate full of…. Ham it appeared. “Eat it!”Lawerence demanded. With great apprehensiveness, Richard took a bite. Each mouthful only strengthened Lawrence’s cause. “Did you like it? Huh, did you?”.The slave said laughing the whole phrase through.
“I suppose, it was fine.” Said a young Rich, he began to shiver in fear. The cabin became cold, the darkness that embodied the cabin became heavier, and the fear grew immense.
“Good. I hope so. After all it is a shame we had to slaughter the prize pig”
“What do you mean” Rich said.
“Kid, they told me you were smart, that aint no ham, that is some good old white folk.”
Richey twitched, “White folk?”
“Kid.You ate your........... parents. Did you like it?”
Richey screamed, he hurled himself to the floor trying to induce vomit. He yelled, he shouted, he twisted, until the point where great hatred embodied his soul. Lawrence stayed calm and mocked the child’s behavior. “Richard, if you are ever going to survive this cruel world you’re not going to follow the rules.” Lawrence screamed, to make himself heard over the cries of the boy. “You simply can’t survive if you are gonna play by the rules. Plain and simple.” Richard ran out the Birchwood door, he ran until his feet burnt with agony. The cool evening breeze ran through his hair and irritated his eyes, his mouth as dry as a desert valley’s floor. He then collapsed.
August 12, 1902.
Lawrence Packet was hung that morning, yet he enjoyed the feeling of death he couldn’t wait to see the other side. Some locals who witnessed the hanging said that he was smiling form ear to ear, eager to be slaughtered. A young Richard Larose witnessed the hanging as well. He was changed. His posture was different, he stood hunched and reckless. His check once so chubby had turned tough and torn. His eyes, stone cold, pierced with agony, torn and distraught they simply eluded the grips of sanity. Richard proceeded to make his way to the gallows were he gazed into the dead mans eyes, his too were dead and emotionless. After a long look Richard turned back around and faced a deadly silent crowd. A young Richard Larose gazed upon the townspeople, with eyes of a dead man’s.