What inspired me for writing this piece by placing my inner thoughts, a place that I would be...
Show full author's note »
Janessa My Sister.
Sitting here crying as the strings slide through my fingers. Bit by bit of my blood drip on the loom as I grip onto the pole to tighten the strain of string, pulling the pole as strong as I can. I was 6 at that time when my parents sold me and my siblings off to a stranger. I didn't know I was sold until the next day I woke up in a land full of cherry trees beside my siblings. My father told me that one day, he would sell me off for marriage, but I did not know it would be now. Do my parents know where I am? Do they remember how I look, smell, laugh, and talk? Do they remember me at all? I look back at the blanket, brown, yellow, orange, and red.
"Almost finished?" Emma whispered while looking over her shoulder
"It looks beautiful. Are you planning to sell that, Julieanna?"
"I'm not quite sure yet. How much do you think it is worth?" I said while wiping my blood on my cloth apron.
"Hmmm. About $10." Emma looked at me,
"But with those blood stains, 6 at least. Make sure you wash out the blood stains before Mr. Stevenson sees it."
I looked down at my apron. What can I do with six dollars? All of a sudden I heard screaming
"LET ME GO! LET ME GO!!!" a familiar voice shouted
"COME WITH ME NOW!!!" a man's voice yelled.
Emma and I stood up from our stools. It was Mr. Stevenson pulling and dragging Janessa by her pig tail.
"PLEASE LET ME GO!!! I BEG YOU! I PROMISE I WONT DO IT EVER AGAIN!! PLEASE LET ME GO MR. STEVENSON! PLEASE!" She said while screaming and crying.
I quickly pushed my way past the other children and pulled Janessa by her legs.
"MR. STEVENSON! PLEASE LET MY SISTER GO!!" I yelled as I held onto Janessa legs.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING" Mr. Stevenson yelled as he began to pull Janessa's hair harder.
Strands and strands of her hair quickly plucked off of her scab as if they were flowers being picked from the ground. Janessa’s cry and scream became louder and more violent, war cry to be exact. A man in his late 40’s early 50’s stood behind Mr. Stevenson. Appropriating me and lifting both Janessa and I up. We both hung on his shoulders like bean bags being carried to the back room. The room that I've always walked past every morning wondering what wasn't in there. I thought it was a private bathroom, but it really wasn't It was an empty room with woven bags on the ground. The bags for picking cherry picking outside the barn. Is this where all the bags and cherry sat after we were finished picking them? Whoosh the strong movements of air rushed past my hair and arms. I laid there on the cold cement floor with Janessa beside me. I grabbed her hands and held onto her, as the man who held us grabbed me and dragged me into the dark corner. I tried my best to reach out to Janessa but she was already at the opposite corner with Mr. Stevenson. Her screams begin to get louder, as I saw her from the corner of my eyes as her apron and dress rip apart, I can see the sadness and pain in her eyes as tears streamed down her face. I couldn't help it, I wanted to help her. I tried to release myself from his grip and struggled but nothing seems to be working. I could not do anything for Janessa nor I with what was happening to the both of us. Tears flowed down from both of our faces as we tried releasing ourselves, the laughter and grunts Mr. Stevenson and the man on top of me were making. I couldn’t help but scream and kick. I tried reaching my hand out towards her screaming her name. JANESSA, JANESSA, JANESSA. Is this what I get for helping?