Iron Scales

His feet ached.

Isaac and about a dozen others like him had trekked from Lafayette, Louisiana to the borders of Texas. Three hundred miles on foot; barefoot. They were accompanied by four overseers over the course of five days, occasionally being tossed an apple along the way to keep their energy up.

They'd reached their destination, an old barn situated in the middle of the woods. There they would wait to be picked up in the morning and brought to their new home. The Wolcott plantation. Adam Wolcott, a slavemaster, and owner of the biggest plantation in Texas had purchased premium specimens from the smaller property in Lafayette. These specimens were between the ages of 18-25, with great vigor and strong backs.

Isaac got a good look at his feet. A giant bruise spanned from his heel to the ball, almost forming a paw-like callus. He was chained to a post in a horse stable along with the others. The barn they were in was shabby at best. Parts of the roof were missing, allowing the rays of summer to beat and wear down those unfortunate enough to be under it. Isaac won the luck of the draw; he was chained to the last stable in the shade.

As he leaned his body against the stable, Isaac allowed himself to daydream of his love. A woman he'd met as a child. A woman whose heart beats the same as he, but held the ultimate contrast. The slavemaster's daughter. On that small plantation in Lafayette, Louisiana, Isaac had a bond with the oppressor's offspring that time had cultivated into a beautiful magnolia whose petals represented each pivotal moment over the years that strengthened their love. He knew she was worried about him. By this time she would've gone to find him (as she did every morning) and he would be absent. She would search the grounds and never find him because he was not there and may never return. He wouldn't accept this. If they were to part, it would be together from this world, or he alone in an attempt to make it so.

Isaac examined his chains. Iron bracelets cuffed him tightly around the wrist conjoined with a 10ft chain attached to a 3ft post protruding from the ground. He'd seen this before. Hundreds of times. And he knew where the weakest point in the chain was. He knew because he and his uncle made them. Back on that small plantation, Isaac worked in the smithy under his uncle. It was there where they forged thousands of horseshoes, rods, wagon bearings, and the very chains that bound him.

He went to work. By wrapping the chain around the post several times until there was no slack, he was able to create leverage. He twisted his cuffs and warped the chain until the link yielded a visible gap. A little more pressure and --

The barn door dragged open and the four overseers entered. Isaac's chain was visibly damaged; he unwrapped it from around the post and sat back. The others looked up. A bright-burning piece of metal dangled in the hands of the overseers. A branding iron! It was time to stake a claim to Adam Wolcott's property.

SIZZLING! Followed by a man's CRIES. They branded them one by one. The sounds were akin to swine over a fire and the agony of men being pulled into hell. An overseer stood over Isaac. The branding iron in his hand burned hot enough to be offensive to the ears. The iron was molded into the shapes of an A and W encircled. The overseer aimed for Isaac's chest. Isaac backed away.

"Keep still. Unless you want to mess up yer face..."

Isaac looked to his chain. The overseer hadn't noticed the inconsistency among the links. He thought: Strike now with surprise in his favor and risk a skirmish with three other men, or be branded and wait until --

The iron connected! Isaac cried out and collapsed on his chains.

When he awoke, the sun had retired its blinding summer light and allowed the moon to shine its blue radiance into the barn. He sat up, turned his neck, and grit his teeth. He stood and checked his surroundings. The others were asleep. Come dawn, there'd be more than twice as many of the opposition to carry Isaac further away from his love. It was now or never.

Isaac stood in the middle of the barn. The bracelets still an accessory, but his hands were free to fall at his side. The man chained across from him looked up with his mouth agape. Isaac looked him in the eye and approached him. The man lowered his gaze and averted his eyes. As Isaac moved to the door, he found them all awake, but none would make eye contact.

He peeked through a hole in the barn door. The four overseers were sleeping around a dry campsite. Isaac moved outside, his skin acting as a natural camouflage, merging with the still of night. He stood over the unconscious men as a silhouette of judgment, weighing the scales of their deeds. He had the power to enact the responsibilities of the reaper. The power to destroy them and free his brothers. The euphoria of this opportunity changed him. His eyes glowed like hot iron. He closed his eyes. She wouldn't want that. Isaac was motivated by love and he would cling to these feelings lest he is weighed by the same scales awaiting his captors.

After borrowing some supplies, Isaac packed a horse and led it into the woods. The sound of a hammer pin clicked behind him.

"You stop right there."

Isaac turned and found himself staring into the barrel of an overseer's rifle. The same overseer that'd branded him. His quest was over before it even began. He accepted this fate. Kept his eyes open. Awaited the flash that would whisk him away from this world.

"Why?" Asked the overseer, keeping his rifle leveled with Isaac's head. "Why didn't you do it when ya had the chance?"

Isaac kept silent. The overseer adjusted himself, planting his feet firmly again.

"You think you spared us? You're thinking we're not worth it. Let God handle us. I know you. You're self-righteous. You think you're better than us because you keep your hands clean. You even pity us."

Isaac kept silent, looking the overseer in the eye.

"I don't need your pity." The overseer lowered his rifle. "Go on, now. A life for a life..."

Isaac turned his back and mounted the horse --

"Jeb?" A voice called from the overseer's camp.

As Isaac rode off, the overseer bashed himself in the mouth with the butt of his own rifle.

Isaac rode back to Louisiana as far as his memory of the land would take him. Where is recollection would fail, the horse would compensate, as it had traversed this path between states many a time. He rode this recollective steed with a wide smile. The wind gusted against his body. The open plains promising control over his destiny. For a brief moment, he was free. But freedom meant nothing without her. He'd rather return to captivity if it meant he could see her one more time.