I got used to staying at home- to being able to wear my nightshirt all day if I wanted to.
My name is Thomas Griffin. I have been a slave for two years now. My master’s name is Butch Bellken. He expects me to call him “Mr. B”.
I don’t have parents any longer, or so I was told. They supposedly died when I was eight. I am ten now. Ever since they died, I have been a slave. Mr. B. kidnapped me and has been holding me ever since.

“Thomas!” Mr. B. yelled.

“Yes?!” I screamed back.

“Get down here!”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied.

I slid off my cot that was as hard as a rock and plodded down the stairs.

“There is a dearth of firewood, Thomas.”

“Let me guess; you want me to get some from the barn.”

“Bingo. You will be my chivalrous knight….NOT!” Mr. B. bellowed as he started laughing hysterically.

It was extremely cold outside; it was five degrees. I had no shoes to shield my already blistering feet from the indomitable winter weather. I pulled on a thin shirt and began to embark on my journey to the barn. The bitter cold wind stung my face when I opened the screen door. This would not be a facile job. I stepped into the snow and sprinted toward the barn. The snow gave a pungent feeling to my feet and the rest of my body. It stung horribly.

When I got to the barn, I opened the wooden door and went inside. I had half a mind to lie down in the hay and repose, but I quickly pushed the thought from my mind when I remembered that my feet were probably getting frostbite by now. I wiggled my toes as I went to grab the wood. After I retrieved the wood, I slowly made my way back to the house.

Mr. B. was a very truculent man. He was mean, cruel, and nasty. I walked into the house and dropped the wood on the brown carpet floor.

“Thomas!”

“Yes, Mr. B.?” I chimed.

“Someone is here to see you.”

I walked into the kitchen and I stood, speechless. I had never felt more unfeigned love in my life than in that moment.

“Mom, Dad?” I asked.