Ike took a breath and drank the draught. He instantly became aware his consciousness was expanding. No. It was moving. Not just his mind – he could still feel his fingertips and hear his heart beating in his ears with excitement. He tried to calm himself, taking deep breaths, while reviewing the formulas and proportions frantically in his mind. Eventually, he focused on a flickering light and counted the fluctuations – timing each breath until he was considerably less agitated. It was a candle. And he was in some kind of cell. He smiled. He’d never been incarcerated before, and he wondered how to extricate himself should the effects of the concoction prove permanent. He put aside the thought as he noticed a young couple looking at him with distinct awe and curiosity.
He mused and they recoiled instantly, while simultaneously reaching out towards him arguing about whether or not he was real. “Hello. My name is Ike, and I assure you I am quite real.” They marveled that they could understand each other, even though they were obviously speaking different languages. “I do not understand this either,” Ike tried to reassure them. They continued to fight about which of them should deal with this apparition. The female lost as the man fell into a fit of convulsions. She squared her body to face the stranger, and stood taller.
“I am Tarna,” she stepped between the ghost and her man. “What are you?”
Ike reintroduced himself and extended his hand in greeting. She didn’t flinch, but she didn’t take his hand either. She didn’t understand the cultural gesture, or didn’t care to acknowledge it. “Why are you here, Tarna?”
“Terrible things,” she lamented. Her voice was full of regret and she seemed ready to fall into the arms of this new confessor, while at the same time standing resolute with the knowledge of the suffering she’d caused. He invited her to tell him more. “Twenty-four people,” she chanted in her archaic tongue. It was melodic.
He sat on a makeshift chair, and felt the harsh wood grain with his fingertips. His clothes were normal, undamaged, and even his money sack was intact. He jingled the coins inside, curious if they would notice. The man jumped at the noise, extremely interested. However, he was still recovering from his fit and she told him to remain where he was. It seemed he was as real to them as they seemed to him.
“They beat me,” she kept repeating over and over. Finally Ike asked why and she held out her scarred hands, as if in surrender. “Because I wouldn’t confess.” The man almost jumped off the ground, obviously indignant.
“What sins did you commit, child?”
“Their sins. Not mine,” she hissed through her teeth. She lowered her eyes like a lion about to pounce. He yielded and sat back, apologizing. She continued to wail and he finally asked why she lamented so, if she hadn’t done what they’d accused. “Because I named others. Hundreds of others. I said they were the diabols. They were thrown in prisons. Nineteen were emptied onto the ground,” her eyes widened with the horror as she saw it all happening again as if for the first time. “Another was crushed by the block. Four starved while captive…”
He had never seen such honesty and remorse and resolute acceptance. The man stood to comfort her and she collapsed in his arms. “She was not a diabol. They beat her until she confessed. And now, we rot in this cell.”
Ike stood, resolute. “Guard! What is the price for these slaves?”
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The exercise: 600 words; fictionalize two disparate historical figures. Randomly chose 1685 as my "google" year, and decided on: Sir Isaac Newton and Tituba (one of the instigators of the Salem Witch trials of 1692). I was pleased with the results and the possibilities. I like the meshing of true characters and the fictionalization of them. It provides a crutch producing "realistic" characters without outright plagiarism. In 1690-1693 Newton suffered from a nervous breakdown some theorized brought on by his alchemy experiments. "Someone" bought the slave girl from prison a year after the trials. Maybe it happened like this? Fine. Maybe not. But still...
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