Reflective Essay: After The Civil War

447 Words2 Pages

I look through my dirty bedroom window as the pain of guilt fills my mind, I watch as slaves create calluses on their innocent hands as they pick cotton. I sigh in resentment wondering why father thought this was a good idea, walking away from the grungy window I'm left in my thoughts. Thoughts of freedom for not only the coloreds but for myself as well. Thoughts of hope for the enslaved humans forced to work in the hot Georgia sun, sweat rolling down their unfortunate faces. Snapped out of these thoughts by a knock on the door I answer, "Come in." In peers the house worker, Minnie, "Miss. Effie, your father ask fo’ you." Her English broken and dress torn, she's never been taught different. Straightening out my poor posture I dismiss …show more content…

My shaky hand twists the golden door knob and I walk into my father's work room where I'm told to sit. "Effie, I heard someone thing from the Johnsons and I'm not too pleased with it." "And what would that be impartial?" I answer back wondering if my father had heard about my fiasco with trying to free a few slaves a couple of nights back. "Effie, I know how you feel about slavery," he heard. "But you're only seventeen, you can't turn into a town detriment." "Only seventeen? Father, I'm not child anymore! You have to let me go on my own, you can't just keep me in here all of my life!" Fear replaced with anger I stand up and storm over to the door, "I'm mere an adult, you treat me as if I'm five!" I turn and walk out of the dull work space, Minnie looks at me in dismay and out of complete spite of my father, I dismissed her... And this time for good. When I get back to my room I start throwing my dresses into a suitcase, leaving little to no trace that this had been my room, just one for a guest. When I leave the house I have no sense of urgency as I head in the direction I go, slowly forgetting the past, slowly freeing myself from the internal prison i'd be sentenced years to, and lastly slowly trying to free myself of the memories of the slaves who worked themselves to death for my repulsive

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