The moon surrendered to the rising sun, revealing people walking through a plantation. The men were shirtless, their leggings torn and feet bare. The women weren't any better, wearing a one-piece frock filled with holes at its hem. As they walked, the sun's rays rushed towards them. As it reached them, their surroundings glowed rainbow reflecting the streaks of their hair. A crossroads laid in their path, causing them to split into three groups; the men going straight towards the rice paddy, half of the women heading towards a large manor and the other half heading towards the vineyard.
On the horizon near the rice paddy, a dark-haired man stood staring at the men waiting for their arrival, a whip on his waist, and sickles by his feet. When the men were near, their eyes scanned the ground, their heads remaining vertical, never rising.
"Alright, today's harvesting time."
"Yes, Sir!"
They all shouted before quickly heading to work. The men in the fields moved with a sense of practised efficiency, their bodies swaying in unison as they navigated the lush rice paddy. Each one wielded a glowing green sickle with expertise, their hands glowing green, bending at the waist to slice through the golden stalks of rice, a sombre look on their face. The scorching sun beat down on them, and their sweat-drenched skin glistened with the effort.
The overseer, a stern figure with piercing dark eyes, watched their every move. With the whip on his waist serving as a constant reminder of his authority, he maintained a watchful presence.
As the men worked, their arms aching from the repetitive motion, they occasionally glanced towards the overseer, their heads never rising beyond a certain point. Fear and submission were etched into their expressions. They knew the consequences of displeasing the man who held their fate in his hands.
In the vineyard, the women moved with grace and determination, their fingers mirroring the glow of the men deftly plucked ripe grapes from the vines, slight tears in their eyes. The large manor in the distance stood as a stark contrast to their modest clothing and toil. Yet, the hope of perhaps one day escaping the plantations lingered in their hearts.
The other group of women, who had chosen the path leading to the manor, made their way towards the imposing building. They carried baskets filled with clothes, their eyes downcast as they approached the doorstep.
Inside the manor, the wealthy landowner, a man of privilege and status, awaited their arrival. He reclined in a grand chair, surveying the estate's vineyards, fields, and the workers toiling in the sun. The women entered, showing him the clothes, and he acknowledged them with a nod, his gaze on one of the younger woman's busts.
Seeing his approval, they started getting to work, but before they could start, their master called out to the girl.
"You there! Come and follow me!"
He made his way upstairs, with no doubt in his mind that she wouldn't follow him. The girl was scared as she knew what happened whenever a girl like her was called. As she slowly followed him towards the room, all eyes were on her, full of pity for the young girl. The same thought echoed in each of their heads.
'She's only thirteen years old and only went through her period three suns ago. If only there's something we could do.'
With a heavy heart, they started working as brooms flew to some of their hands that glowed indigo. It wasn't long before they heard the sounds of screams coming from upstairs. Trying their hardest to ignore it.
As the sun continued its relentless journey across the sky, the fields and the plantation buzzed with activity. The division of labour was clear, with each group knowing its place and purpose in this complex and hierarchical system. The reality of life in the United States of America called Inti by the Kekila was one of stark contrasts, where the sun could both bless the land with abundance and expose the harsh inequalities that existed under its unrelenting gaze.