Striped
An animal, that's how they look at you, the English. You're like some low form of life that they find stuck to the bottom of their shoes. They don't like us Irishmen; they look for reasons to get rid of us. One mistake is all it takes. One mistake and you're thrown in jail or sent away to some far off country, or worse. You sometimes see it happen to people around you, and you hope you won't be one of them. People tell stories about brave Irish heroes, but what about the results of those rebellious acts? Who tells about the Black Maria, or the cat o' nine tails, or the gallows? Why does no one speak of those ends? Not all Ireland's martyrs end on a field of battle. Maybe those stories are too real. But there is nothing glorious about memories from the inside of a jail cell; there is nothing admirable about the scars on my back. I am the animal they see. A tiger is known by its stripes.
Lodging House Stories
Fanfic
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