When Angels Cry Blood.
The Funeral of Hearts.
I had always wanted to go be in America, I just never would’ve thought I’d end up there as a slave. I sighed heavily, glancing at the other 15 or so people that shared a similar fate. The note pinned to my shirt simply said: Donald Way. Some people back home told me this Way guy was a huge deal in America. Super rich, super snobby, and super cruel. So he’s most definitely going to be my favorite person here.
I was miserable and aching to be back with my brother and parents by the time I had arrived at the Way’s. Oh man. I felt the tears prick my eyes once the realization that they we’re going to work me senseless and beat me stupid registered in my head.
“Iero?” Donald, I presumed, barked at the handful of young people around my age.
“Here,” I squeaked timidly, raising my hand shyly.
Donald sighed, rolling his eyes, “Do they ever send me a well-built, strong one? Or am I doomed to get fucks like you forever?” I said nothing in response. He scoffed at me and continued going down the list of names.
It was going to be a long life.
I didn’t get the point of slavery. I mean, why must these Americans be so lazy? So lazy that they must seize entire families from their homes, split them up, and force them to do their dirty work, or face the whip, or even death sometimes. See, my father was white and my mother was African American, so I just wound up a mixture of the two which landed me here as a slave, I guess. Lord only knows where my younger brother is. We we’re super close and now I’m never going to be able to see him because of people like the Way’s.
“Gerard! Michael!” Donald roared at the immense house behind us, “Show these bums to the cabins!”
I glanced around and realized that not only am I going to have to work myself to death for these people, but I have to live in an ant sized, shitty, splintery log cabin. Bliss.
“Okay, sir,” the taller and skinnier one replied quickly. The pudgy, darker haired one simply rolled his eyes.
“Gerard,” Donald warned, “Don’t you ever roll your eyes at me, got it fucker?”
“Sure thing, sir.” Gerard said airily, rolling his eyes once his father retreated.
“Lordy, you have to live with that?” I murmured, wide-eyed.
“You better shut the hell up, dirt,” Mikey, I’m guessing, spat at me.
“You better watch how you talk to him,” Gerard retorted, glaring daggers at his brother.
Weird, how such a fine person can come from a family of assholes.
I was miserable and aching to be back with my brother and parents by the time I had arrived at the Way’s. Oh man. I felt the tears prick my eyes once the realization that they we’re going to work me senseless and beat me stupid registered in my head.
“Iero?” Donald, I presumed, barked at the handful of young people around my age.
“Here,” I squeaked timidly, raising my hand shyly.
Donald sighed, rolling his eyes, “Do they ever send me a well-built, strong one? Or am I doomed to get fucks like you forever?” I said nothing in response. He scoffed at me and continued going down the list of names.
It was going to be a long life.
I didn’t get the point of slavery. I mean, why must these Americans be so lazy? So lazy that they must seize entire families from their homes, split them up, and force them to do their dirty work, or face the whip, or even death sometimes. See, my father was white and my mother was African American, so I just wound up a mixture of the two which landed me here as a slave, I guess. Lord only knows where my younger brother is. We we’re super close and now I’m never going to be able to see him because of people like the Way’s.
“Gerard! Michael!” Donald roared at the immense house behind us, “Show these bums to the cabins!”
I glanced around and realized that not only am I going to have to work myself to death for these people, but I have to live in an ant sized, shitty, splintery log cabin. Bliss.
“Okay, sir,” the taller and skinnier one replied quickly. The pudgy, darker haired one simply rolled his eyes.
“Gerard,” Donald warned, “Don’t you ever roll your eyes at me, got it fucker?”
“Sure thing, sir.” Gerard said airily, rolling his eyes once his father retreated.
“Lordy, you have to live with that?” I murmured, wide-eyed.
“You better shut the hell up, dirt,” Mikey, I’m guessing, spat at me.
“You better watch how you talk to him,” Gerard retorted, glaring daggers at his brother.
Weird, how such a fine person can come from a family of assholes.