Hell on Earth

Darkness.

A heavy suffocating darkness.

Not just the absence of light, not the darkness that fades with blinking or squinting, but the kind that sat heavy on her eyes and chest, thick like smoke, swallowing her whole.

Moremi's eyes fluttered open slowly but nothing changed.

She blinked again—harder this time. Still nothing. Just...blackness.

An overwhelming silence wrapped around her, broken by the distant clinking of metal.

A loud creak echoed beneath her, followed by the deep, constant gallop-gallop of wood hitting waves. The floor shifted beneath her body, rolling gently from side to side.

Her head ached. It was an inexplicable headache throbbing inside it as she tried to remember something...just anything, but the more she racked her brain, the more the pain came. So she stopped.

She attempted to move but her limbs were stiff, almost like they weren't hers. She groaned, raising her head to sit up but a weight pulled her back down, frustrating her even more.

She twisted her wrist only to hear the faint clink of something.

Metal.

She froze.

Again, she tried to move her wrist.

Clink clink. Cold, heavy, unyielding.

She was chained.

Panic surged up her spine.

Where was she?

She tried to think, to remember but the moment she pushed, the pain spiked in her head again.

What was happening? She wondered.

Suddenly, something moved beside her.

A shallow cough rasped in the dark. Another human.

Her eyes widened as she turned quickly toward the sound. Still nothing. No shape. No outline. No face.

"Hello?" her voice cracked, dry and uncertain but no reply.

She tried again, louder this time, "Who's there?"

Another deep cough rattled beside her. Then another. Someone was close.

"Please," she said, straining to turn toward the sound. "Can you...hear me?" she asked, struggling against the restraints around her wrist. The metal clattered softly as she pulled. "Where am I? What is going on?!"

Moremi's heartbeat quickened. Her chest rose and fell erratically as her fingers clenched the cold floor beneath her.

The person beside her coughed once more, harsher this time. Then abruptly, a voice growled in the darkness out of irritation.

"Shhh! You wan make dem come flog all of us?" The voice was male—harsh, tired and suffering.

Moremi flinched. The accent was thick—pidgin.

She understood it, though she rarely ever spoke it. It was not the tongue of royals. Not common in the palace. But she had heard it often from servants, traders and villagers.

And now…?

Her chest tightened.

"W–wait," she stammered. "What is this place? Where am I? Why can't I see anything?"

The man hissed under his breath, "Wetin you mean? We dey inside ship with the white devils. Or you tink say na boat ride you book? Abi na only you first wake up inside this hell?"

Hell?

Another weak cough echoed from somewhere far behind her.

Then a woman's voice added, soft but firm: "Better save your strength. This place no dey get light. We go dey here till we reach."

What? Moremi's mind reeled.

A ship? With the white men?

Slavery.

The word rang deep in her ears.

That was impossible.

Moremi's fingers trembled. "I don't understand… how did i get here?" Her voice cracked in fear. "I had been in the forest..."

No one answered.

Then another man muttered, this time, the person spoke in her dialect, "You are not the only one. All of us were of our own business before we got caught. One minute you are eating, the next minute you are chained. Just thank the gods you're still breathing."

Moremi's throat grew tight hearing this.

Thank the gods for breathing when she—a princess was now being shipped as a slave?

She leaned her head back against the damp wall.

Her memories finally coming back in flashes now.

The forest. Her arrows. The gunshot.

She had ran...

The water. Her heart. Her legs. Her escape—

Then nothing.

And now this.

She whispered in disbelief, "I… I've been captured...like a slave?"

No one answered.

But the silence was answer enough.

Her ears caught the murmur of the others now.

Men. Women. Children.

Coughing. Groaning. Some weeping silently.

The air was foul, the stench of sweat and rot thick, and Moremi realized.

They were in the belly of the ship. The lowest deck. Where light did not reach and hope rarely survived.

Her jaw clenched, tears welling in her eyes with disbelief as she pressed her palms to the floor, trembling.

No.

Just No.

Frantically, she began to shake the chains, her wrists jerking wildly as metal rang out in panic.

She could not be here.

She was a princess.

The princess.

The future of Mandinga. The crowned daughter of the throne.

She could not be a slave.

Never!

She twisted her hands, clinking the metal to make clattering noises.

She had to get out of this place as soon as possible. She wanted to go back to her home. The only home she knew.

She needed to see her father.

Her maids.

Agatha. Akan. Everyone. They would be searching for her now.

They would be scared. If she had known things would go in a different direction, she would never have step foot out of her chambers.

She had to get out of here.

"No! Get me out of here! I want to go back home!"

Her scream shattered the quiet room like glass, startling them all.

"Who be that???" one of the men shouted.

"You de craze?!" another snapped. "You wan kill all of us?!"

But Moremi wasn't listening. Her voice had become feral with fear.

"Let me out! I am not one of you! Do you know who I am?!" Her voice tore through the dark, even though her throat was dry and aching.

"This girl wan put us inside wahala!"

"Shut up before dem go come whip everybody!"

Moremi's mind reeled, blocking away their warnings.

She shook the chains violently, eyes burning, refusing to accept the truth.

These people—these voices—these were lowborns. Commonfolk. Farmers. Traders. Servants. Their tongue, their posture, their tone—all of it screamed a life far below her own.

And yet… now she was here.

Chained.

With them.

A princess about to be sold as a slave. None of that sounded right.

The panic returned like a wave, harder than before.

This isn't happening, she thought. This can't be real.

She roared, her cries and struggle echoing through the space despite her throat aching from dryness.

The people in the room panicked terribly, knowing that her loudness was going to attract the slave traders.

And they were right.

Moremi continued her rant, "Hello?! Can you hear me up there? Free me from these chains before my father finds you! I'm not a slave! I am a prin-"

Bang!

Suddenly, the room blazed with light.

The trapdoor above them had flung open with force, flooding the chamber with blinding brightness. It felt like being dragged from the ocean's bottom into air.

A large man stomped into view, torch in hand, the bars wide open behind him.

And for the first time, Moremi saw everything.

The rows of chained bodies.

The dirt. The sores. The eyes staring back at her—some hollow, some afraid, others furious.

Her own wrists.

Her legs.

The room.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Oh no..." she whispered in horror.

By the gods.

What kind of place was this?