My+Historical+pieces+of+writing

Here is one of my histoircal pieces of writing.

“ Tag, your it!” “Okay. I’m coming to get you” Justin runs really fast so it wasn’t long before I was it again. Our Screams of laughter and fun scurried through the air like a buzzing bee. “Ha, I got you again” I tried to run as fast as I could through the wet, green grass. I was thinking that I might be able to beat him. My heart was pounding like an African drum. I was going to win. As I looked back at Justin, he stopped running and had this scared look on his face like he has seen God. I stop in my tracks. “JUSTIN! Why are you playing with this black dirty boy?” “ He’s my friend Papa.” “No he is not, we do not play with black people. They don’t bring nothing but trouble.” “ Go home Nigger, and never come back again. If I happen to see you again, I will…. Make you my slave.” This is the first guy that I had anger for. He wore a black suit with polish shine shoes. His face was old and wrinkly but he was a very big man. He shoved his finger in my face and pushed me to the ground. “ Sir I’m sorry. STOP, STOP. MAMAA!” “ Don’t call for your Mama lil’ boy. She don’t love you anyway. He hit me in the face. My dark brown skin hit the floor. I felt the dirt smeared into my soul. My nose started to bleed. My face was hidden under my arms, and I lay there for a minute hopping he would walk away. As I looked up, he was still there, standing over me, with this aggravated look on his face. Like he hated me, but he didn’t even know me. I jumped like I saw a spider, and crawled backwards like he was an alligator and I was the prey. I didn’t understand what was so wrong for me to hang with Justin. I got up as quick as I could and ran away to where he couldn’t see me. I ran to the pond and washed my face. As I looked at my reflection in the water, I felt like it was talking to me; I was talking to me. “ Why would he call me a ‘Nigger”? What does that even mean?” I slowly got up, and limped al the way home. Well I wouldn’t really call it home; it belongs to my master, Mr.Wakeman. I know Mama would put a whipping to my backside when she sees my face. I felt very woozy and dizzy, so I sat down on the sidewalk to gain my vision back. When I felt decent to keep walking, I got up and started walking. Then a group of white teenagers approached me. “Excuse me please.” I tried to walk through them but they pushed me back. “ Say, excuse me master, and we might move! “Excuse me master.” They all laughed and each of them shoved me until I almost fell into the street. I didn’t even think about why those boys might have done what they did to me but I was just worried about making it home. When I got there, I greeted Mr. Wakeman. “Good afternoon master, nice weather we are having,” “Hello Michael, and yes very nice weather. Go now and help your mother with the chores.” “Yes master.” As I head up the stairs, I took a breath of relief thanking God that he didn’t say anything about my bruised face. I heard water running in the sink. “ Michael is that you?” “Yes mama, its me” When I walked into the room, her back was turned to the sink. “Where were you honey I was- what happened to your face? Then I told her what happened at Justin’s house. “Why do white people call us nigger mama?” “I’ll explain it to you when you are older son.” She turned back to the sink and shook her head. I was so surprised I wasn’t crying right now. “Son, you need to stop hanging out with that white boy. You is sure gonna get us in lots of trouble. Ya Hear?” “Yes mama. I’m sorry.” “Its ok. I’m not going to hit you. But next time I find out you hanging with that lil’ boy, I'm gonna beat the dark skin off of you.” “Yes mama.” “Now be helpful, and grab that bucket and some soap and help me with this laundry.” As I began to wash some clothes I asked: “ Ma, why are we called slaves?” “ Cause we are forced to do the white mans work.” I stopped talking and thought about it. Mama told me I was born in this house, and the master decided not to give me away since I was a boy. I am only 6 years old and mama has taught me to read. “What is this here called boy?” “A pair of socks.” “How you spell it?” “A P-A-I-R O-F S-O-C-K-S” “Good” I was proud of myself. I felt smarter than anyone. But too bad, no one else thinks so. please leave comments and tell me what you think. thanks for reading!