Burning Hate

September 12, 2011
By Marco Lopez BRONZE, Alamosa, Colorado
Marco Lopez BRONZE, Alamosa, Colorado
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

September 11, 1752

I was running down an alleyway I could feel my hair sprawling as I sped away. The police officer behind me was sprinting as well. I saw the street ahead full of people. I sprang from the alleyway at full sprint, but the policeman was right behind me. As I ran I looked around and saw many familiar shops from my childhood as well as many vendors and their carts. I realized I was in Saint George’s Square and that I was almost to St. Saviors Church. I passed a vendor who was selling apples from his cart. I had a brilliant idea: to knock the cart over. The apples in the cart were of all colors from a vibrant green to a brilliant red and they rolled in every direction. Beggars and the hungry all ran to get the food just as I had planned. After only a few seconds the police officer was out view lost in the discord I had just caused. I ran away not having much time. He needed this, was all I kept thinking and I ran faster and faster. Finally, I reached the doors of St. Saviors Church. I pushed the heavy wooden doors open and ran towards the staircase. I scaled the steps like a monkey does a tree. I reached his room. I saw the priest just close the bible as I walked in.

“I am so sorry, Madeline.”

The priest walked out of the room and that’s when I saw Thomas’s body on the bed. His body had been ravaged by the Consumption. I couldn’t afford any type of care so he stayed in the Church. Earlier that morning I had decided to take things into my own hands and take the supplies I needed, but it was too late now. I walked up to him and touched his face. Tears came to my eyes. I collapsed grasping him so tightly I thought I could never let him go. Then I heard footsteps and turned around to see the policeman.

“You thought you lost me now didn’t you lassy.”

He ran towards me with his black nightstick glistening off the torchlight and the last thing I remember was the image of it coming down onto my head and the sound of a heavy thud.
September 12, 1752

I awoke to a throbbing head. I looked around and myself in a large wooden room. There was a woman next to me and I asked her where we were going.

“We have been exiled to India.”

She had a dim look in her eyes as she turned away from me.

October 26, 1752

I was abroad for about a month and a half when we finally reached India. We were welcomed to a small colony and told that the men were to assist with a bridge project. As for the women, we were to help with farming and household duties.
November 3, 1752

I’ve grown accustomed to this way of life, I am no longer the stray dog England kicks around. We are far from the rule of England and life actually is getting better. I live with some of the girls and I have made many friends. Although, I have heard the some Indians from a nearby village are threatening our small colony. Let’s just hope rumors are only rumors.
November 12, 1752

November 13, 1752

I have been kidnapped. The Indians have taken me to their small village. Here it stinks of misery and cruelty. I don’t know what they have in store for me and I shiver to think of the possibilities. This diary offers my only salvation.
November 19, 1752

The past few days have hell I have been married to a man in the village. He is cruel and careless, treats me like an animal. I won’t stand for this! Something shall be done.
November 25, 1752

I am trapped in my hut. Last night I killed my so-called husband. He was beating me and tried to force himself upon me. I grabbed a pot and hit him over and over until he seized to move. I am not any closer to freedom though in all actuality I have trapped myself. By killing my husband I have become a widow and in Indian tradition widows must perform a ritual called Sati. I must perish in the fire of my husband’s funeral pyre. I can hear the people outside chanting now, the ritual is about to start.

The author's comments:
It is very original and I hope you enjoy it.

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