Interracial Marriage

This week Pegman takes us to Cape Town, South Africa.

Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

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Once more I’m late to the party. Many thanks to K Rawson and J Hardy Carroll for hosting this prompt.

Although I chose a photo from Cape Town, I traveled far afield. The architecture puts me in mind of the old part of Charleston, SC. So I took a story I wrote for Friday Fictioneers a couple of years ago and, as Karen graciously put it, breathed new life into it. At the same time, when South Africa comes to mind, I think of Apartheid. So there’s kind of connection…right? That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

PEDIGREE

I adored our handsome houseboy “Black-Jack.” Mama had a special smile just for him. Nobody told a better story. Sarah and I shared his lap, laughing and crying by turns.

One night I kissed his bronze cheek. “I wish you were my daddy, too.”

“So does I, my sweet li’l magnolia.”

When Sarah and I turned eight, Grandma sold him.

Mama swooned. I dried Sarah’s tears with my lace petticoat.

“Stop that, Emma.” Grandma snapped. “She’s your slave.”

“No! She’s my best friend. My sister.”

“Never!”

I still feel the sting of Grandma’s hand across my lips.

A month later the old biddy sold Sarah.

On my seventeenth birthday I was married off to a plantation owner near Charleston.

This morning I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl who bears no resemblance to either her blond father or me. In fact, she’s the spitting image of her Aunt Sarah.

Real life twins.

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS!

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going over or under the word count.)

THE KEY:

Make every word count.

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Genre: Literary Fiction

Word Count: 100

A little background music 😉 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H9bYnzs7Zaw

DMZ

Two months after my father’s death he received an invitation from my Uncle Yee in Uigeongbu. Was this the same Uncle Yee who threatened to drown me?

My parents met in a MASH unit in 1953. She was a surgical nurse. He was a wounded soldier in Syngman Rhee’s army.

Never accepted anywhere. I still hear the taunts.

“Black and yellow Jell-O. Slanty eyes. Nappy head.”

I traveled in Appa’s place to tell his evil twin how much I hated him.

Instead, upon my arrival in Panmunjom, a shriveled old man bowed and wept. “Forgive me, Tamika Ahn. Welcome home.”