By Walter Mosley
Walter Mosley is likely one of the best-known writers in the US. In his first publication for teenagers, Mosley deftly weaves historic and speculative fiction right into a robust narrative concerning the nature of freedom. forty seven is a tender slave boy residing below the watchful eye of a brutal slave grasp. His lifestyles turns out doomed until eventually he meets a mysterious runaway slave, Tall John. Then, forty seven reveals himself swept up in a fight for his personal liberation.
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Shay had breakfast in tow: lobster omelettes, toast, hash browns, corn fritters, grapes, chocolate muffins, and Bloodies-more food than a whole packet of calorie purgers could erase. The overburdened tray shivered in the air, its lifters trembling like a littlie arriving at school, first day ever. “Um, Shay? ” Shay giggled. “No, but you sounded bad. And you have to be bubbly tonight. ” “Great, bubbly” Tally sighed, relieving the tray of a Bloody Mary. She frowned at the first sip. ” “No problem,” Shay said, scraping off the caviar decorating an omelette and stirring it in.
All they ever did in the ugly days was sneak out and maybe cross the river a few times. ” The song ended just then, and Tally’s last word fell into sudden silence. She tried to think of what to say, but the conversation just faded out, like fireworks in a dark sky. The next song seemed to take a long time to start. When it did, she was relieved and said, “Crim costumes should be easy, Shay-la. ” Shay and Tally tried for two hours, making the hole in the wall spit out costumes and trying them on.
FALL “Later, Tally,” Croy said, snatching back his mask. He yanked open the door, and the noise of the party rushed into the stairwell as he darted through, the gray silk of his costume disappearing into the crowd. Tally just stood there as the door swung closed again, too stunned to move. Like her old sweater, she’d remembered ugliness all wrong: Cray’s face was much worse than her mental image of the Smokies. His crooked smile, his dull eyes, the way his sweating skin carried angry red marks where the mask had pressed against it… But then the door slammed itself shut, and among the echoes Tally heard the footsteps still climbing toward her, real Specials on their way up, and for the first time all day, a clear thought went through her head.
47 by Walter Mosley