I never do. Instead, long before the cock crow, I wake in darkness trembling with anger, with shame, with a bitter grief that gnaws, growling at me from the pit inside the shadow.

Three years gone since backra pass sentence on me. A lifetime since Sam Sharpe gave himself up. Hanged by the neck till dead. Tossed in the sands of Montego Bay Harbour. Buried like a criminal in a watery grave unknown. Even in death, him still owned. Him massa got paid sixteen pounds sterling from the Mother Country as recompense. My Sammy, who done nothing but bow and scrape, come running like a dog when Massa call him, got sold for much, much more.

And in them long hard nights, when I think back over everything that happened, how much I lose, how much I gain, me heart start to rattle in me chest. Cause the breathing sickness to come back with a vengeance till I collapse on the dirt floor, panting, unable to move, and the guards just leave me to lay there sick and alone, till I come good again.

Father, mother, brother gone. Last I heard, old Calla finally gone too. Gave Mistress Josephine what she wanted, another little Rose. Gained her freedom. Live a long life, old Calla, come visit me one time, in a dream. Come visit, hug me up, then I know for sure she gone from this earthly plane for good.

The thin line between Sammy and me finally break for good too. Him want nothing to do with one of Sam Sharpe rebels. Is only Eliza left to comfort me. Now a big woman. Turn fierce, full of fire, but still have kindness running in her veins. And once more, I find meself sitting behind the wait-a-bit fence, a shroud of despair wrapped tight round me shoulders.

Why freedom come for others, but not for me? How come fate not yet take me life, send me back to the Ancestors? Questions, plenty questions, that have no answers. No answers, except just like on the plantation, is only routine, routine, routine.