The Diary of a Slave | Teen Ink

The Diary of a Slave

December 23, 2010
By AshTree SILVER, Clarksville, Tennessee
AshTree SILVER, Clarksville, Tennessee
7 articles 0 photos 196 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Live your art" -made this one up myself. Simple, but true.

If a slave had been able to write, what would they say? If they were on the ship, no idea where they are going, how would they express this confusion and mix of emotions? In this story, I take on the persona of Asha Larai, a young twelve-year-old girl on a slave ship during 1624. Just five years ago, her parents were taken to become some of the first slaves, and now it is her turn. I give her a voice and let her speak with my knowledge. She bleeds through the paper.

Dear Diary,

I sit, surrounded by people not six inches away, underneath the deck of a boat. I stare at the bodies-rows and rows of bodies. Some left us because of disease, others old age. Holding my breath is pointless, the acrid smell never goes away and even when I do get off this ship, I will still remember that distinctive scent. The groans grow so loud that I cover my ears and try to muffle the sounds with my own singing. Last night I sang until my body passed out from exhaustion and I could only hope that I would make it until the next day. I’ve become so accustomed to tears constantly wetting my face that it would feel odd not to cry. The cycle makes this seem normal. Maybe that is why I continue to cry- stopping would break the cycle and I would have no daily ritual to follow.
Some days I wonder why I’m kept down here. I am so young compared to the rest of us. Yet the others and I are still hidden as the white men’s dirty secret. When they feel the need to be entertained, the secret is divulged. They force us onto the deck, group by group, to dance. The winter air is refreshing at first, but then I cannot stop shivering and I don’t want to move. It is so cold and my fingers hurt from frostbite. We are humiliated while at our lowest points. Our hope and dignity disappears behind the crack of a whip. The red marks are everlasting mementos of our masters’ cruelty. I used to dream of mutiny, revolting against the people who kept us aboard. Then I wonder, what about the ones who die, are thrown overboard, or executed? Who shall act as our providence and save us from such a death? Only those who have endured this would side with us and surely we would lose. Why had this happened? Were they simply punishing us for our race?

Today, I looked at skin in a way I never did before. It disgusted me. I stared down at my arms and legs. They were the tint of mud, stained like dirt, the color of a moth or rotting potatoes. It was the cause of my pain. I was angry- not only at skin, but also at my parents, the white men that control this world, and everything else I could think of. If I weren’t black I wouldn’t be sitting in this dark abyss, sweating from the others’ body heat in the middle of winter. I wouldn’t be fed this slop, using an overflowing bucket for a restroom, or dying slowly at such a young age. I wouldn’t have been separated from my parents. I wouldn’t be here now- afraid, lonely, and waiting to arrive at a destination I’m unsure of. The loneliness makes me miss everyone- even the people I despised. I just want to feel safe. I miss my family and friends and I cannot bear to think that they are going through the same things I am right now.

I have never loved my brother more than I do now. Abdu, I pray to see you again one day. Grandmother Etana, I wish with all my tears to be in that little hut with you again. You all were my security blanket. Here I have none and everything is so overwhelming. I am not sure I can take it any longer. I have awful nightmares and I always wake up with sweat and tears dripping off my body. At least I had one good dream while I was here. I dreamt of Africa, and it was beautiful! I saw everyone again. I could no longer taste blood on my tongue, hear the screaming and groaning of insane elders, or reach out to touch a dead person’s cold and rigid skin on any side of my body. For once, there was grass instead of water licking a boat and tossing it around. I kissed the ground. I kissed brother, mom, dad, and grandmother. It was a perfect world. My life had gone right and I’d long since forgotten of these scaring memories. Yet then, I awoke that night to see an old man dying of a heart attack. His sparkling blue eyes turned grey as his spasms came to a cessation.

Would I have been better off shot by one of the white men? Would I rather stay here and wilt like a dying rose? Right now I do not know why I make myself endure this torture. My life will never be the same after living this way, so why even try to live? I cannot live a life wanting to kill myself, too cowardly to perform the deed. Yet, isn’t it cowardly in itself to hang oneself or fast until your body gives up. Maybe it is braver to undergo the suffering, but my body can’t take much more. All I know is someday I’ll be free- even if it is among the dead I wander, I won’t be here.

Asha Larai died on December 13th 1624, her hopes still high.

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This article has 41 comments.

hahaha-stfu said...
on Mar. 12 2020 at 6:23 am
hahaha-stfu, Sydney, Other
0 articles 0 photos 1 comment
copy and paste, uhm yep, thanks!

on Sep. 13 2016 at 2:42 pm
ScarletCity PLATINUM, High Ridge, Missouri
40 articles 4 photos 68 comments

Favorite Quote:
Anything that can be done, can be undone. ~Scarlet City

umm... slave dancing was not a practice to entertain the white slavers and the sailors, but to keep the slaves fit. Healthy slaves fetched higher price at market.

on May. 23 2016 at 12:51 pm
BuddingRose GOLD, Irwin, Pennsylvania
10 articles 0 photos 7 comments

Favorite Quote:
"A person's a person, no matter how small." -Dr.Suess

I don't understand either. This story is not humorous in any way, but yet people think it is funny.

TheAwsomeOne said...
on May. 6 2016 at 1:22 am
Cheers helps me with English

on Apr. 25 2016 at 12:56 pm
0 articles 0 photos 1 comment
I don't understand why people said, 'this makes me laugh.'

Meg1 said...
on Feb. 19 2016 at 10:57 pm
Awesome writing helped me write a diary entry as a slave on a ship for school work thanks heaps!

on Jan. 25 2016 at 3:54 pm
loved ever bit of it helped me with my homework and it gave me an idea of the history of slaves thank you

Lou-England said...
on Jan. 21 2016 at 2:19 pm
this really helped with a school project, thanks ;-)

on Aug. 7 2015 at 12:35 pm
MasterSun SILVER, Las Vegas, Nevada
7 articles 0 photos 12 comments

Favorite Quote:
"History is written by the victors"- Winston Churchill

Very emotional story. . .

julito2531 said...
on May. 3 2015 at 9:25 pm
This helped me with a school assignment. Thank you!

on Mar. 17 2015 at 9:02 pm
Helped with a school project. Copy and paste works.

on Mar. 4 2015 at 12:05 pm
i lob it sa macho it very goods

on Feb. 28 2015 at 9:09 pm
im also doing a project, can u plz talk about how there life was in the U.S. ,, On the RUN to canada ,, and when they reach canada > . thanks, but it was still helpful

mileykaka said...
on Sep. 3 2014 at 12:48 pm
I am doing this project too

isaiah said...
on Mar. 19 2014 at 4:28 pm
heart touching diary if only the white people were nicer

joyfulljen said...
on Feb. 19 2014 at 4:43 pm
I'm doing a project of writing a diary of a slave

on Feb. 13 2014 at 11:44 pm
True Alex_gold well written

on Oct. 3 2013 at 2:41 am
ohana.d PLATINUM, Dubai, Other
20 articles 3 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
Life is sarcastically a beautiful journey...

Bs is expected but not accepted....

Touching diary about the sorrows and brutality of this rose.... Ash tree how did u recover this letter..? We can sympathise with them but someone who actually went through it can empathise with her... We're so happy it's all over and we greatly respect those who fought for their rights.

dani ;) said...
on Jun. 14 2013 at 4:02 pm
have a project at the moment about the slave trade and there lives after being taken from family and friends. this is so sad but ts great insparation for my project, thanks

on Jun. 10 2013 at 4:51 pm
GreekGoddess BRONZE, Andover, Connecticut
3 articles 0 photos 182 comments

Favorite Quote:
"The unprepared rebel dies in the fire."

Wow, this was relly good! As reading, the reader becomes completly abosbed in this character. She is no long ink on a page or particals in a coputer screen but a person in pain, a little girl scared to the bone. I like the way you were able to draw some past into this without it sounding unnatrual. This goes beyond well written. As I am rereading, I can't find a singal thing wrong, any tiny detail I would change myself. This is a wonderful peice of art (for thats what it's become). Keep up the marvolous work.