I'm just like any other girl, I guess. Any girl that lives in my time and on a huge Southern plantation as a black slave that is. I love and cherish many things, as any other human being, especially my darling sister and the flickering and the folding of a dancing fire's flames. My sister's voice is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. It's like a beautiful songbird's everlasting song. Her face and graceful femininity is most remarkable. In fact, I'm sure that if she were a white girl she would have every other girl's jealousy, millions of beaux, and many marriage proposals to deal with at her discretion. The only thing my sister would need in life, and she doesn't have, is bravery. I, on the other hand, have bravery.
My sister's name, in my opinion, is better than mine. Her name is Tantia, while mine is Shana. She is three years older than me. The farthest back I can remember in my life was the night before the slave auction with my two brothers. I can't remember the ship ride although I'm told it was terrible. I was two years old at that crowded slave auction, and since my sister and I were so young we were sold as a pair. I my two brothers, mother, and father were auctioned, too, or at least that's what my sister says. I can not remember my brothers ,other than the night before the auction, and I can't remember my parents at all. I can't even recall my parents' names.
A few years after the auction my sister and I learned how to cook luscious foods and tend to tedious fires. They would have taught my sister earlier, but she wouldn't leave my side. They couldn't have taught me earlier, because I was too young to remember anything they taught me. Tantia's still doesn't leave me alone in a room. I guess she remembered the ride over on the ship. People say it was hellish for the slaves. I can be glad that I don't remember it. Our master, Mr. Burnsdourgh, likes us young, so we don't remember the ride as well as if we were old. Less slaves run away under those circumstances. I can't really hate, or like, being a slave, because I have nothing to compare this life to. But if I had enough time to live in Africa as a normal girl, I could relate to this life as being either good or bad.
My sister is, and always was, a wonderful cook. As a result, I always got stuck with tending the fire. Not that I really mind the task. Since my sister never leaves my side, I'm also stuck with stirring the soups, stews, and other foods over the fire. The kitchen we use is apart from the other buildings and only consists of one rectangular room. The preparation table for the foods is in the middle of the room. The fireplace is humongus and is on the right side when you enter the room. Sometimes my sister and I end up sleeping in here. Other times we sleep with the other slaves but we don't have a permanent room anywhere. My sister and I feel at home here anyway so that doesn't matter.

I was merely doing my job one day, tending the fire. I didn't mean for the fire to die down. But as a twelve year old loving to watch the flames dance and embers glow it's very hard not to let it die down. I got more wood anyway, and laid it near the fire so I could reach it later. I put more logs and kindling on the burning embers and leftover ashes. The fire was burning strong and beautiful sooner than I had thought it would. I put a kettle full of freshly made soup on the fire to cook, and carefully stirred the various juicy ingredients. I hated the smell of the soup, but I was sure it tasted heavenly like always. I then propped the top on and let it simmer over the blaze.
As I finished this small task, my sister lectured me on not letting the fire burn to ashes, because then I had to strive in a sorry attempt to get it going again. She went on and on, but I didn't pay much attention to anything she was saying. I did however listen to her everlasting bird song of a voice by allowing her voice to turn to a murmur in my ears. Then all of the sudden, in the middle of a sentence I think, her calm and lovely face turned into pure fright.
I had seen her scared because of a puny mouse or two, but she never looked as frightened as she did at that moment. It was like she was looking death straight in the eye. My sister finally let out a high pitched scream that could hurt anyone's ears. I knew whatever it was scaring her, it was behind me. It was only a matter of seconds before it grew deathly hot in the room; I thought it was due to my fright. I slowly stood up, took a deep breath, and gulped. This time, afraid to look back. I turned around.
When I saw what was behind me I could barely suck in the vital air I so very much needed. A spark from the fire had hit the wood pile remains and was now a tall blazing fire. It had climbed up the wall to the ceiling and across the floor almost to the flamable cooking table. This room was almost totally made of wood and was soon going to be it's own brutal battlefield. A foot of clear space was left on the floor. It was just enough for me to go through. I took the chance and ran to the door on the other side. Ashes fell from the burning ceiling and onto the floor, slightly burning my face.
When I got to the door, a booming crash rang out. It sounded like something exploded. I whirled around in surprise. It was the table plummeting to pieces. It was then I saw and remembered my sister whom I admired so much all these years. She was backed into a corner scared of the scene before her, like a newborn kitten was scared of the world. There was an opening on the other side of the blazing table that she could get through. If only she had enough time. Ashamed at my selfishness, I yelled at her to run though the passage. My desperate yells made her come to her senses and out of her temporary daze.
She got up and ran as I, too, ran to meet her at the clearing, but we were both too late. The towering flames had reached across the clear passage. My sister was trapped. Realizing her fate she screamed without mercy to her bitter blacking lungs. I could still get out. I looked through the smoke filled air for the way out. Ignoring my beautiful sister's plea, I tried to get back to the door. To may dismay the ceiling partially collapsed. It just missed me, but had crashed down right in front of me. The door was so close but out of reach. I, too, was trapped.
I couldn't let this happen. If my sister had to die then surely I wouldn't have to watch. My sister didn't deserve this. If only she had run through the small passage in the beginning with me instead of cowering.... Maybe if I could break the walls down and go around and get her out. No. The walls were too thick for me to break alone, and the small space I stood in didn't contain any objects that would be able to break the wall. My sister's shrieks could not be ignored any more. They were full of pain, terror, and death, instead of just plain fright.
The flames had just reached her tortured body and licked at her flesh. The skin did not stay as smooth as silk and pretty for long, but burnt and pealed away from her still pulsing veins and her sturdy bones. The veins exploded in the extreme heat. Her fresh blood popped and boiled under the pressure of the flames. Then it naturally clotted and fell off of what was left of her in ashes. Her eyes oozed down her burning facial skin and exposed skull in putty and jelly like clumps. Her manageable black hair fell out in locks and withered like snakes before they, too, became ashes. Her skeleton blackened, and her voice rung in my ears long after she could not scream anymore. The smell of burning flesh was not only indescribable but unforgettable. The loss of my sister and me being lucky enough to witness it stung my heart more than a torturing death could ever feel. It had all happened too fast.
By then the flames had reached me. It licked my skin like a predator would its prey. I did not scream and yell out for help. No one would hear my desperate cries anyway. I did not cry. In fact, the only tears I shed were because of the smoke and disgusting smell of my burning sister lingering in my lungs. I did not even utter a sound of pain, sorrow, or deep loss. I did not have to tend a fire again. My fate was sealed in this room I lived my short life in. And for my last time, I looked at the beautiful flames flicker and fold.