Illinois: A Short Story

Ella Wheeler
Illinois
It’s late at night and I’m running through the cotton fields of the slave plantation in Kentucky. Day after day I had been forced to endure working at this horrible place. Not anymore because I am going to finally escape. My friends all say that someday things will get better, but to me things won’t get better when nobody is willing to try. I am going to be that person who will change the thoughts of other people. Suddenly, I hear a shout behind me that brings me to the present.
“Don’t let him leave! I don’t care if you have to kill him, but do… not… let… him… LEAVE!!!!!” my slave owner yells.
I can feel the sweat start to drip into my eyes. By now you can probably start to see the kind of situation I’m in. I probably
Nobody’s awake it’s so late outside. I hear nothin’ but the faint cooing of an owl perched on a nearby tree. I look around to see if there is anywhere that I can sleep so that I can’t be found easily. I start walking and find a small break in all of the crowded houses on a street.
2

I lay down and look around to find myself sittin’ by an old carpet bag. I have myself a looksee inside and find some law papers for a case of murder.
“Well I’ll be darned. It looks like there’s been another case of a slave killing another slave,” I say to myself. “Well, it looks as if nothin’ ain’t gonna change if we keep acting like this. They call us blacks animals, wild people. We’ve always argued against that. But now here we are are killin’ our own kind,” I was just about to a shouting level by then. “Oh no, what if someone heard me?” I worry.
By that point I was feeling close to death from exhaustion of my travels today.
“I can’t believe I actually did it,” I mumble.
“Yes, you must’ve had a great deal of erroneous treatment during your life. But look at you now y’all are fine and dandy layin’ down on a free street in Illinois,” A voice agrees.
I was so tired by now I could barely sit up to look at my unknown
“Don’t worry, I’m goin’ to be the one to lead you to your emancipation.” The voice states.
“Well in the name of God almighty. You’re being serious right, you ain’t lyin’ to me just to be pulling my leg, right?” I question him.
“No, I promise I ain’t lyin’. I”m an anti-slavery crusader.” The man simply states.

3
“My word, thank you so much sir. I can’t explain my gratitude. If y’all don’t mind of my askin’... what’s your name?” I query.
“Abraham Lincoln boy,” The man, well I guess I should call him Abraham, replies.
“Well I’m pleased to meet y’all,” I say with a bow.
As I bow, I notice something. I look horrible. My shirt is barely hanging by a thin strip of material, my pants have lots of holes in them, and my shoes are so worn that they now looked like old socks.
“Well sir I know we just met and all, but I’m really tired and I need some rest.” I yawn.
“Yes, yes of course. But wouldn’t you rather sleep in a warm house, with new clean clothes on, with some food?” Abraham gently asks.
“You mean that you would do that for me?” I respond.
“Yes, now come along, or we’ll be causing even more ruckus than we have been. It’s really late.” Abraham chuckles as he started to walk away; being swallowed in darkness as he