The kerosene lamp brightened the room, while the world outside grew dark. Mr. Burr sat in his chair, his feet propped up on a smaller padded chair in front of him. The weekly Ripley Advertiser was open proudly in his hands, the large newspaper full of articles of his hometown. His hands gripped it tightly, while his thumb rubbed the top of it with care, tempted to turn the next page.
On the other hand, Dyson stood still. His eyes were looking on at his master, while his long, lanky arms dangled at his sides.
âSir.â
The vocalization made Mr. Burr pause, his thumb stopping its caress, while the grip on the paper loosened. âYes, Dyson?â
A big old brown clock chimed in the farthest corner of the room. Dysonâs eyes darted to it. âI-I⌠wanted to ask you âbout Mr. Stockton, sir.â
Silence reigned for a moment. Dyson couldnât see Mr. Burr due to the paper that was blocking his view. But then, the paper was folded shut, set aside on his footrest. Mr. Burr gazed at his slave, and smiled. âOh?â He got up from his chair. âWhy do you ask?â
Dyson twiddled with his fingers. âI⌠was worried, sir.â
âWorried?â Mr. Burr let out a hearty laugh. âDyson, you and the rest of those negroes donât need to worry about Mr. Stockton. Heâs absolutely harmless to you lot.â
âItâs not that, sirâŚâ Dysonâs voice trailed off, his eyes flickering between the clock and his owner. âYou looked like you were goinâ punch him. I didnât want to have to yank ya off him.â
That nearly killed Mr. Burr, his hands holding his belly tight. âB-Boy youâre going to kill me with all this talk!â He took a seat back in his chair. âMr. Stocktonâs just grating on the ears sometimes. He tends to⌠say nonsense that I donât take kindly.â
Dyson tilted his head. âWhat did he say, sir?â
âNothing worth mentioning,â Mr. Burr said lamely. He bent down to grab his newspaper, and took a seat back in his chair. With a quick flick, his paper was opened again. He waved at Dyson dismissively. âLike I said, donât worry about it. If thereâs anything he says that worries me, Iâll let you know.â
âThank you, sir.â
At first, Dyson took a bow, and moved towards the door. But just as he was about to grip the handle to the door, he stopped and turned back. âMaster?â
âYes?â
âAre ya goinâ to the Crossroads tomorrow?â
Dyson heard Mr. Burr breathe deeply, making him shiver. âYes I am, Dyson.â He set his paper aside. âGotta after losing a couple to last year's storm, remember?â
Unfortunately, Dyson did remember. His gaze traveled to the floor. âI-I do, s-sir. Hope they be real nice. We be needinâ those new hands.â
âMhmm.â Dyson saw the back of his masterâs head bobbing, while his masterâs hand turned the page. At first, Dyson thought that his master had nodded to his response, but then he heard his masterâs voice hum to a beat, a beat that Dyson recognized. He was about to ask him why he was humming it, but Mr. Burr beat him to it.
âYou know, Dyson? I miss your motherâs tunes. Reminds me of my wife playing her piano,â Mr. Burr said. He hadnât turned around, but his head was no longer paying attention to the paper in front of him. The night sky was much more interesting.
âI do too, sir.â Dyson stood frozen, his feet numb. âMommaâs really good at piano.â
âThat she is, which is why I need you to do me a favor. Could you tell her Iâd really appreciate it if sheâd start again?â He turned to see Dysonâs stalwart stance. âSheâs the only negro woman I ever heard play that well on a piano.â
âIâll tell her, sir.â
âYou better,â Mr. Burr said with a smirk. âShe needs to start practicing. Iâd like for her doing that so I donât have to read in here anymore.â
âIs that why you come out here?â Dyson asked.
Mr. Burr shook his head, before he turned to his paper once again. He grimaced. âI feel⌠my wifeâs presence here. We used to come in here once in a while to get away from everything.â He paused and flicked to the next page. âYou remember that?â
Dyson walked towards him. âDefinitely, sir. I came out to serve ya both a few times. That wasâŚâ He paused, counting on his fingers. âFive years?â
âSix. Six years, boy.â The paper crackled a bit. âYou came with your family that long ago. And sheâs been gone for three less.â He plopped his feet back up on his other chair. âAnyway, when your mother does her playing, she makes the house feel more⌠home-like. It donât feel so empty, you know?â
Dyson wanted to say no, because he had never had that problem, but he nodded anyway.
âKnew youâd understand. You a smart working negro. Thatâs why you donât work as much out there.â
âI know, sir. I appreciate your kindness,â Dyson said with a smile.
âI try, even in these times,â Mr. Burr said, before putting his paper down. He looked at the clock and saw the hands tick-tock their way near twelve. âWhelp, looks like itâs time for you to get some shut-eye.â
âYou not headinâ to bed, sir?â Dyson asked as he opened the door.
Mr. Burr shook his head. âNo, boy, Iâm too absorbed in these news articles to go to bed just yet. But you need to, so donât stay awake for my sake.â
âAlright, sir. Iâll be gittin to bed. Iâll be up for morninâ harvest!â
Mr. Burr laughed. âHope so.â
Dyson bowed and exited the room. âGood night, sir.â
âGânight, Dyson,â Mr. Burr replied.
When the door clicked shut, Mr. Burr smiled, and turned the page.
The sun woke me up, not Dash. There was a problem with that: she had told me she would keep watch. I didnât need that much sleep, so the fact that I even got what felt like forever made my mouth open wide, letting out a tremendous yawn. Rubbing the sleep off my eyes, I turned to look for the colorful-not-horse, whose rainbow mane was resting on the same grains as I. And she was, fast asleepâŚ
...snoring.
I nudged her, furious. How could she fall asleep? She was the one who warned me about this placeâs monsters, and here I was, nudging her in hopes of waking her up! Her body just wiggled to my touch, while her snores remained unaffected, loud as can be.
âDash.â I said with a bit of venom. I prodded her with a little more force, nudging her side with my knuckle.
It got her to mutter something in her sleep, but she wasnât budging, her hooves curling under her belly.
And thatâs when I saw it: a tuft of fur on her belly. It looked so fluffy that it could be the way to wake her up. I smirked and glazed my fingers over it andâ
âW-Wha, huh?â Rainbow Dash mumbled. Her eyes darted to and fro, before she craned her neck to me. âI⌠Dyson?â She tilted her head. âWhat are you doing?â
âTryinâ to wake ya up, thatâs what,â I said. âYou were supposed to wake me up when ya wanted to get some sleep.â
The mare let out a very sharp yawn. âSorry about that, Dyson. I didnât even know I fell asleep. One moment I was thinking about what Iâd do when I get home, and the next youâre tickling my chest.â
Dyson smirked. âWell nearly punching you didnât even wake you up. Hell, youâd probably sleep through a stampede if I let ya!â
Dash giggled, before letting out a short blow. âSounds like something Applejack would say.â She frowned. âProbably be worried just like the rest of the girls when they find out Iâm missing.â
âBest be on our way to meet âem, right?â I said, my hand outstretched. Helping her apparently earned me a confused look, a raised brow that twitched at the thought of me being nice, so I decided to continue, âNeed help up?â
She stammered out a reply, âS-Sure.â She put her hoof in my hand, letting me pull her up. It was an awkward tug, but she soon found her bearings. Unfortunately, her wing kept reminding her how not-okay she was, making her wince. âI hope my wing doesnât get infected. Thatâd stink having to be grounded at the clinic for a whole month.â She rolled her eyes, and stretched her uninjured wing. âI canât tell you how much I hate that place. It feels like I keep visiting it every week with a new injury!â
âWhatâs a clinic?â
Her brow really twitched at that one. Was that something I should have known? I just stared on as that left brow trembled uncontrollably.
âDyson, when we get back, I need you to talk to my friend, Twilight, because if you donât know what a clinic is⌠I wonder if you even know what medicine is.â
I shook my head. âCanât tell ya that either.â
Dash sighed. Her grit teeth and ruffled muzzle made her look like she wanted to punch me. Maybe not knowing things she knew made her irritated.
Or maybe she was alone with something she never knew existed, while having to deal with a broken wing. Sheâs stuck with me: a slave who she ran into while flying, and with no way out in sight, it's probably got her all rattled. These are only possibilities though, I donât know her well enough to just assume, much like she doesnât know me well.
She walked away from me, staring out beyond the cave. I walked beside her and looked down at her. âWhatcha lookinâ at?â
âHow did you get up here without wings?â
I wiggled my fingers. âThese work hard, Dash. I just climbed my way up.â
She turned to me, her mouth and eyes wide open. âWith me on your back?â
âDash, you is light as a feather on a chicken,â I said, earning me a glare. I put my hands out in front of me. âItâs true! I put you over my shoulder, and climbed. I didnât know this place, so I made sure to be not near the ground, that way nothinâ would snatch us!â I looked down at the gorge below. I could see the water trickle down. âGuessinâ ya want down?â
She nodded. âBut the ledge is way too thin for me, Dyson. I donât know if I can walk on it.â
I smirked at her. âWanna find out?â
âIs that a challenge?â
âTake it as ya may, Dash,â I reply, seeing her matching smirk. âI just givinâ you my thoughts.â
She stepped forward, and placed her hoof on the ledge. She was right, the ledges around us were extremely thin. This was where I stopped, since I knew trying to go higher was pointlessâall the ledges were too thin for my fingers to get a good grip. So I just settled in this cave, hoping that nothing would snatch us. We were⌠high up, just not even close to half-way. This place was huge.
I sat on the edge of the ledge, and prepared myself to head down. Meanwhile, Dash looked above us to confirm what I already knew:
âDyson, we canât go up either. Those ledges look super thinââ
âYeah, but them down there donât look like they ainât meant for climbinâ.â I began to dangle over the side. âYa ready?â
âDyson, I canât do that with hooves.â
Right, sheâs like a horse. âOkay, well,â I said, pulling myself back up. âGit on my back, and wrap your hooves round my neck.â
âOkay,â Dash said, doing as I told her. She draped herself over me, her forelegs wrapped around my neck. âLike this?â
I smiled. âYep, just like that.â I got back on the side of the ledge and began to descend. âKeep a good hold on me, alright?â
âIâll try.â Her voice sounded anxious. Was she thinking I was going to drop her? âDonât drop me.â
âNot planninâ to,â I replied, wearing a smirk.
The climb down wasnât rough as she thought, but it didnât mean that her added weight didnât add any strain. And I bet she wouldnât admit it, but she was whimpering the first few times I dropped down. It wasnât something I would make fun of her for, but from what Iâve gotten from her, sheâs very prideful, much like Mr. Stockton. And if Mr. Stockton was anything to go by, she didnât have the guts to admit it right away.
By the time we were closer to the bottom, my fingers were rough, and my muscles felt worked. I decided to check on my passenger to see if she was okay, but her fidgeting told me a different story, one of fear. âYa alright back there?â
âS-Shut up,â she stuttered.
I couldnât help but let out a chuckle. âJust checkinâ to see you ainât colder than a wagon tire.â I swing my body a bit. âCareful, goinâ for ânother swing.â
That got her to tense up, as I swung myself from one ledge to the next. âWhy did you do that?â
âLook to your left, Dash.â
She saw what I was seeing: a larger ledge directly to our left. It had a way down that didnât involve me getting strangled to death by a worried horse. She gasped, and said, âJust one more swing, Dyson, you can do it!â
I smirked and told her to hold on tight. And tightly she did, but she wasnât worried anymore. I saw that excited smile, before I took the plunge, swinging to the next grey ledge.
We landed just fine. Although scraping my knee was not part of the plan. I winced slightly, but it was just because the minor injuries hurt the most.
Dash hopped off my back, and kissed the ground rather graciously. âI have never ever said this, so if you told anypony, Iâd deny it outright.â She hopped in front of me. âGot it?â
âUnderstood, Dash.â
âIâm so glad Iâm finally on the ground.â
Hearing this was different. Never had heard someone say that they were glad to be on the ground. I get the feeling though. It felt good to finally not have to hear another person shouting at me to do something. So far, I did stuff on my own, or, well, with someone, that is.
âMe too, Dash.â I took a gander at the raging waves ahead of us that were racing down the unexplored valley. âMe too.â
10150236
This is what happens when you request deletion of your account a few months ago and forget you even sent one in the first place! I messed up badly, but it happened. Glad to see you back, Venerable!
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10150241
Yeah I've made mistakes like those before
Strange. I thought I had this in my favorites folder. Not the first time Iâve seen this happen. Iâmma gonna read it anyway.
Glad to see this back up!
Third time's the charm!
I like when a good team is put together.
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Not to say I don't have complaints though, the chapters are a bit too short and the Plantation Owners feel just that bit comically evil. Yeah, I get it, racism is bad but they feel like cartoon villains in some regards. Maybe it's just me.
10150696
There's a long tradition of framing slaveowners that way. Uncle Tom's Cabin paints Simon Legree in such a manner, to name one example.
10150707
Fair enough, it's just... Maybe I'm nitpicking here, but maybe making them more human in a few ways. Not saying make them completely sympathetic, but just turn down on the mustache-twirling villainy.
10150709
I see what you're getting at.
10150696
As far as I can see, the only one who could be considered a bastard is that one guy, what's-his-name; The visitor to the plantation.
10150707
I'm using a lot of reference material both from the time and some after the American Civil War (even as far as the Civil Rights Movement) to paint this picture. Glad you picked up on that feel.
That being said, I see what 10150696 is saying. I'll try to tone it down a bit over future installments of the story. As for the chapters, it's a habit of mine, since I'm more of a short burst writer, but I also think that if I wrote each section longer, I'd be forcing words out instead of getting my point across. Don't worry, the chapters do get a bit longer. These first few are a bit short.
10150340
I remember you! Glad to see you back. Story got wiped because of my account getting deleted by complete accident. I don't blame the staff or anything, it was my fault for even submitting the request, let alone forgetting to ask them to remove said request. I'm just glad to be able to post my content again. Only will be this story for a while, since I don't want to flood the new stories tab with my stories. I'd rather take this slow and work on my projects over time instead of getting bogged down. :)
10150622
An unintended third time. Aaaaaaaa!
10150554
10150815
Thank you, and ooooh I do love the word counts.
10150815
This is my first encounter with this story, and I think this is good. I'll set this to track.
10150236
You're not wrong. This story HAS been published before.
I disagree with the sentiment that you aren't making the plantation owner more human. Mr. Stockton is a bit of a caricature, yes, but I find myself appreciating the balanced portrayal of Mr. Burr. Yes, he owns slaves and is okay with owning slaves, yet he clearly sees them as more than slaves, shows kindness to them, treats them as a bit more than property. It's not the same as being anti-slavery, but it's a nice reminder that many people who owned slaves in that time weren't inherently evil to their slaves, and many simply didn't understand the scope of how bad it was to keep slaves because that was how they had been raised. Usually slave owners are ALL shown to be like Mr. Stockton: completely callous, treating Africans as nothing but unruly livestock. But life is rarely so black and white.
10150841
That's the thing, when you delete your account, EVERYTHING gets WIPED from the servers. They don't have a backup to bring back up, Crimmar. I asked a mod about my account in general and how the deletion of accounts work, if you're curious, here's the convo:
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I asked a few of my friends on the site as well on what should I do, since I was deterred from posting approximately 28,000 words onto the site at once, and since I had changed portions of the story in how it was written (and certain scenes with Leo in it which are important for the plot), I decided to post three chapters each day until I get to where I was at. I'm just wanting to finish what I started. :)
10150815 Thank you~
10150841
10150869
The delete-resub rule mostly exists to stop people from getting upset that their story got downvoted, and then deleting it to "try again." Deleting your entire account as a way of getting another roll of the dice on one specific story is pretty extreme and even more counter-productive than spamming the same story multiple times on the same account. Somebody who legitimately made a mistake and doesn't appear to be trying to cheat the system, I'm inclined to cut some slack.
If people start doing this maliciously then that's a whole other ball game, and we'll deal with it then. But I don't think that's the case here.
10150920 10150869
Oh, it was an account deletion. I'm sorry for the whole thing, then. My bad.
10150920
If my story does become an issue, I wouldn't mind conceding to having my story taken off the box, since I wouldn't want to impede on other writers who have written completely new content compared to what I'm dishing out. If you think I need to post my story up to where the content is completely new, then I could also concede in doing that. I want to comply with the rules itself, so whatever you think is best for enforcing the story posting rules, I will go with.
10150937
Yeah it's a very odd situation. No hard feelings! I'd like to see what the site staff think would be the best way of proceeding is, since I know I have my schedule, but if they prefer to enforce this with more than just what I've done (i.e. tweaking/changing certain scenes that are important to the story), then I don't mind complying.
10150947
With all that in mind, I'm gonna edit my comments so I take these parts out so I don't give anyone the wrong idea. Again, my apologies, and I'm glad I was wrong!
EDIT: Also, if I remember correctly, I had it upvoted the last time I read it, so have it back.
I really shed a tear over that. It shows you how the slave system robbed human beings of their dignity.
And Rainbow doesn't understand this because she can't imagine a world where a sentient being can be made into property.
10150852
Well, as Oscar Wilde once said, the kindest slaveowners were the worst ones. They prevented the evils of the system from being apparent to others.
Sure Burr is a decent man, but he also enables men like Stockton, an empty monster who just likes to dominate others.
By way everyone, this is the only story to show up when you type the n-word into search.
Warning: If you can't handle the word 'nigger', then you shouldn't be reading this story. It does pop up sparingly in this story.
I will endure in the name of Etika.
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