Three months. Marcus has been dead for three months. It feels like it was just yesterday, that is, when Master Hanson shot my little brother. I promised revenge the day he was killed, and now it’s coming Hanson’s way; he just doesn’t know it yet. By nightfall, he and his family will be dead. That’s all I know for certain. I’ve been planning a rebellion up until this day, without telling Papa, and all hell is going to break loose within a matter of hours.

“Ow! Those dang thorns! Gabriel, toss me one of them rags! This one got me good.”
“Here you go Papa. Lord, it seems you’re the only one getting cut up out here,” I say as I toss him the rag.
“No boy, I ain’t the only one. You should’ve seen o’l Lenny; he was a slave here on the plantation before you was born,” he tells me, while wrapping his right calf, “I swear, his legs looked a pair a zebras, long cuts up and down the both of ‘em.”
“Now that doesn’t sound too pretty,” I say, taking a swig from the jug.
“What in the hell do you two lazy bastards think you’re doing?! Get back to work, or I assure you a whippin’ is going to come your way,” yells Hanson from his back porch.

“Yes Master, I was just handin’ my Papa a rag, no harm done,” I say.
“Don’t you dare talk back to me, boy! Shut up and get back to pickin’ ‘fore I come over there.” He makes his way down the white, wooden stairs.
“Do you remember what happened to your brother last time he disrespected me?”
Silence.
“That’s what I thought.” He spits each word over his shoulder, while slowly walking back up the porch steps.

I head back over to where Papa stands. He’s silently picking cotton, letting the unforgiving Georgia sun beat down on his scarred, bald head. He’s pretending he didn’t hear Hanson and me. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Toby, Will, and Sam, my three best friends, putting up a picket fence around Mrs. Hanson’s garden.
My fists are clenched tight against my wicker basket, my hands grinding against the rough handle. I want to march right up to that coward and strangle the life out of him. That can all wait. It’s just a matter of time until he is wiped off this planet.
“I can’t stand that man,” I grumble to Papa.
“Gabriel, you must not fight back,” he starts to tear up, “that’s how we lost Marcus. I can’t lose you too. Hanson is quick-tempered, and might even skip a whippin’, go straight to something even worse.” Tears are streaming down his dark, slender face.
“Like he did with Marcus,” I mumble.
The sun is setting. A fiery orange-yellow glows at the horizon, and the temperature is beginning to drop. It’s around five thirty now. One hour to go.

“Papa, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Of course son, what is it?”
We trudge down the narrow dirt path that leads from the fields to the old, weathered shed at the Western edge of the property. There, we dump our day’s pickings.
“Well Papa, in the days after Marcus’ death, my heart was squeezed tight as if a noose was around it. I had to make me a plan to get back at him. I mean, he can’t just go and kill my brother with no consequence. So, the boys and I . . .”
“Enough! You will not, Gabriel. You are fifteen years old. You have no idea what you’re thinkin’.”
“Papa, it’s perfect, nothin’ will go wrong. It’s for Marcus. I have to. There’s no stoppin’ it now. Toby, Will, and Sam have already told the other boys. They loved Marcus too. He was always makin’ them smile; no matter how many whippings Hanson gave him for it. Let me just explain to you what’s happenin’.”
With a resentful sigh, Papa lowers his gaze and rests his head in his hands, then silently turns away and ambles back to the cabin.
“I love you Papa,” I call after him.
Dong, Dong, Dong, Dong, Dong, Dong.
The church bell down the road lets the whole town know it’s six. My legs are wobbling and my head’s spinning. Moments later, Will, Sam, and Toby are walking towards the maintenance shed, with big grins on their faces. The six other slave boys whom they recruited accompany them.

“The moment has finally come,” says Toby.
He’s a few inches taller than me, and has muscles so large that they look like they’re about to burst through his skin.
“I can’t believe it. I hope we can pull this off,” I say.
“No doubt in my mind that we can,” Toby replies.

All ten of us gather together near the back wall of the shed. It’s Tuesday, the day Hanson leaves the shed unlocked, so his wife can do some gardening. The heavy iron padlock is dangling to one side, unhitched. One by one, everyone slips inside and grabs any tool they can find. The shed is typically off-limits to us, and disobeying that rule results in a good whipping.

The boys come out with an array of weapons. They’re wielding axes, hammers, and two by-fours. Everyone is armed and ready, except for Will, another boy, and myself, of course. I have plans of my own for Hanson.

I stand tall before the group, shrouded in darkness. I look each and every one of them in the eyes.
“They say we’re stupid. They call us pigs. Well, they’re the stupid ones. Just because they have white skin means that they are all kings, forcin’ us to slave for them. The time has come to prove the white man wrong. We are strong, and together nothin’ can stop us. Before we head out, I hope all of you know that what we’re doing could get us all hanged.”
I take their silence as a yes. We make all our hands into fists, and put them together in the middle.
“For Marcus,” I declare.
“For Marcus!”
“Let’s get em’ boys. You all know what to do.”

We slither around the shed to the back porch, where Will and the other unarmed boy start hollering at each other.
The plan is underway . . .
*
*
*
The worn rope scratches up against my neck, and sweat’s pouring down my face.
The rebellion was a success; Hanson is gone now. I have finally avenged Marcus’ death, and brought justice to the monster that killed him.

On my right side, Toby stands with his hands tied behind his back and a noose, identical to my own, wrapped around his neck. He’s sobbing. The other eight boys that helped with the assault are lined up on the platform as well.

A considerable crowd has gathered to watch the hanging. I suppose that it’s been a while since one this large has taken place, so most of the townspeople are eager to watch.
It’s warm, cloudless, and the sun is shining high in the sky. A light breeze whips at my torn brown shirt.
I think to myself, what a beautiful day to say goodbye.
The hangman, an old, rather heavy gentleman, walks down the line, placing sacks over each of our heads. I’m the last one to be covered. My final thought as I catch a glimpse of the hangman’s scruffy beard and thick neck is that at least, soon, I will be with Marcus.
Together, we’ll watch Papa from above.