The Story of Rose

 

The silence from inside the small crumbling shack told the overseer that his victim was dead. His nervousness became apparent to all those present. Mr. Reed told him to make sure he didn’t kill anyone else. Sadly it was not compassion that led Mr. Reed to make this statement, but rather a little fear. His neighbors recently discovered plans for a small but organized slave revolt and in order to keep the peace on  his own land, Reed insisted that no slave would be beaten to death. He had hoped this would calm any angers among his captives.

Now the overseer had taken a life and the repercussions would be intense.

Then the small figure, Rose, came through the door. Her face solemn and straight but her eyes carried a sea of suffering and she was drowning in a burden few people have ever known. The overseer rushed over and demanded answers, “Is he dead?” Rose barely had the strength to shake her head, No. The overseer yelled excitedly shocking everyone who was present. There were whispers that perhaps the overseer was more kind than they knew. Perhaps he was being forced to treat them badly. No one present was aware that Mr. Reed had threatened the overseer and the only life he was trying to preserve was his own.

Rose softly moved past the overseer and the crowd of captives parted in silent reverence. This had not been the first and would not be the last time that Rose carried this burden to the river.

The sun started its descent and the moon peaked through the purple horizon. “You’re early mother.” whispered Rose. She immediately began to heave and wail in pain. With each heave forward, a thin streak of blood etched its way across her small soft back, and the red rivers soon turned into a sea. When the heaving had ended, she entered the shallows of the riverside and floated, letting the pain flow. She slowly opened her eyes to gaze into the silver orb above, and now the painful sea was replaced by a deep and intense peace.

Rose was the carrier of pain, the pain of the innocent and for every beating, rape or abuse, she was sent in to heal. Only the enslaved knew the way of her healing. Rose had the gift of drawing out any poison of pain and carried it inside until the moon rose, and the waters replaced the pain with peace…

(to be continued)

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