NOT ADDED: SILENCE

I wrote the following "diary entry" for my seventh grade class. It is an example of what I expect for their writing assignment. We have been doing black history month themed lessons. However tonight as I was sharing this diary entry with Mike, he said, "baby, you should make that a blog, because people need to remember..." So I decided to listen to my boo. This diary entry is called "silence."

Dear Diary-

Yesterday, I watched as an infant was snatched away from its mother. The mother had her eyes closed, tears streamed down her sweaty face and she clung to her baby. But they snatched the baby right out of her sweaty boney hands. The baby yelled. I assume that it hurt the baby to be yanked so hard. But the physical pain and fear of the baby was nothing compared to its mother. As the baby was being yanked the woman almost fell down, because her baby was holding on so tightly to her neck. Her whole body moved with the baby, she almost fell off of the podium, but she caught herself. No one moved to help her. No one moved to help a fallen woman, whose child has just been taken forever. Everyone just watched as she stood there and tried to compose herself on the podium. However other than a natural eye opening loss of balance, she did not open her eyes. She kept her eyes closed, tears streaming and jaws clenched. Her fists were balled and her body was tight. Although she was a small woman, in size and weight, she was strong. Her body was nothing but muscle and her heart was even stronger, for it just turned into stone. She stood there, without moving or flinching as they auctioned her off. One by one, men yelled their price. She stood there silent and tight. The anger seeped out of her, sweat drop by drop. She wanted to scream, but she could not and did not. The man auctioning her off, touched her all over her body, he raised her strong arms, to show what a great worker she would be. She kept her arms strong and eyes shut. Tears and sweat continued to run down her body. He ripped off her scarf to show beautiful thick hair that was pulled back into a tight braid. “Turn around, gal,” he yelled and she did. She turned around slowly, elegantly but tight. Her hair went down her muscular back. Her head was held high. I wondered if her eyes were still closed. “She’s a looker that one,” I heard one man say to another. “Yeah, but she is angry, that one” said the other. I wanted to scream at them. Ask them how they would feel if someone snatched their little Timmy away from them, but I couldn’t. I had to stay in my place. “$740,” screamed my husband. “Sold,” yelled the auctioneer. As I walked to the podium silently behind my husband, I heard the auctioneer say to the young woman, “turn around and greet your master”. She again slowly turned around, opened her hazel bloodshot eyes and quickly looked around the crowd. Her baby was no longer in the crowd, for the baby had been taken off five minutes after it was sold. “Girl, he is right here,” said the auctioneer assuming that the young woman was looking for her new master. When she realized her baby was no longer in the crowd, she lowered her beautiful face and walked behind her new masters, silently.