As I came to, I realized I was back in the slave shack. I was in a hay bed with a thin blanket laying on top of me. I was still wearing my rags, but it appeared that someone hosed me down to get rid of the dirt and blood that covered my body.
My dark hair was also damp, but the top of my head stung at any movement. Once I attempted to move my body, I realized everything stung. As I lay in bed, I could hardly move.
I could feel my body temperature rising; sweat was piling on my forehead and dripping down my features. I found it difficult to keep myself awake.
I began drifting off again; I was sure this was what death felt like.
“Hey… wake up.”
I felt a set of strong hands on my shoulders shaking me gently. Fear began to course through me again, thinking that the landscaper was back
