As If Naming Him Gunther Wasn't Bad Enough..


The boy jumped and curled tighter into a ball in his hiding place. Maybe she would tire before she found him. Last time had not ended so well. He was sure he had a better hiding spot this time.

“Boy! You’re only makin’ it worse by runnin’!” Her voice sounded closer. He had to be really still and quiet now.

“I’ve every right ta’ whip you until you cain’t lie down!” A tear tried to escape, but he refused to sniffle in case she heard him. He closed his eyes tight shut.

“Molly!” The mistress called from the big house across the yard.

“Ma, I cain’t find him!” Her voice was so loud, Gunther’s ears rang. Still, he refused to make a sound.

“Come in, it’s getting late! We’ll leave some food out for him like a dog. He’ll come back in dead of night to eat it and your Papa will git ’im.”

So that was their plan. Well, he’d live off the grubs in the rotten trees in the woods before he’d ever come back to this place! Papa and every other slave owner around here would shoot him anyways.

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