Forbidden Fruit

This short fiction follows Marcus, a secret reader and writer enslaved on an American plantation in the 1800s. Despite the dangers, Marcus pursues literacy, finding solace and strength in words as he dreams of freedom.

In the dim candlelight of a secluded corner in the plantation's quarters, I, Marcus, steal moments to engage in my forbidden pursuit: reading and writing. It's February, the cold biting through the thin walls, but the warmth of knowledge and clandestine freedom fuels my spirit.

My fingers trace the curves of the letters on the worn pages of the stolen book, a prized possession hidden beneath the floorboards. Each word, each sentence, unlocks a world beyond the confines of slavery. I am transported to distant lands, where men and women are not shackled by the color of their skin.

As I carefully form words with quill and ink, I am acutely aware of the risks. Discovery would mean lashes, or worse. Yet, the hunger for literacy outweighs the fear of punishment. Each stroke of the pen is an act of defiance against the chains of ignorance.

Outside, the plantation buzzes with activity. The overseer's whip cracks against the backs of my brothers and sisters toiling under the scorching sun. But in my haven of words, I find solace, a sanctuary for my thoughts and dreams.

Through the cracks in the wall, I catch whispers of a growing movement—a call for emancipation, for the rights of all men to be recognized. Hope flickers in the hearts of the oppressed, igniting a flame of rebellion that refuses to be extinguished.

In the stillness of the night, I compose letters to abolitionists, my silent protest against the cruelty of bondage. Each missive carries a piece of my soul, a plea for justice in a world tainted by prejudice and greed.

As dawn breaks over the horizon, I carefully conceal my writings, burying them deep within the earth. They are seeds of change, sown in the fertile soil of resistance, waiting to take root and flourish.

Though the chains may bind my body, they can never shackle my mind. For in the darkness of oppression, I find strength in the power of words, a beacon of hope guiding me towards a future where freedom reigns supreme.

As the day unfolds, I return to the fields, my hands calloused from labor, my spirit emboldened by the knowledge that even in the darkest of times, the light of truth will prevail.

Written for R.P.'s Secret Writer Challenge: