In another world Moses Butler would have been in the position that Solomon Northrum held. If he lived in a world that did not see him as just a black man. He had been raised by a couple who had survived the bounds of slavery, who had lived through the beatings, rape and disease that had killed so many. His parents had thought that they life they lived after the end of the Civil War was a magical utopia and that was how they raised Moses.
Moses knew that they were not living in a utopia, they were living in slavery under a different name, "Sharecropping". Moses had seen what true utopia could be, he was shown this my the One True Father and Son. It was not the God and Jesus that his "parents" preached every moment of every day but it was the man who had saved him. The Cold Man, the true Son, and The Endless Eye, the true Father. He had worshiped them in secret since before he could even speak, they were friends he played with while his "parents" toiled away in the hot, miserable Alabama sun. The guardians that protected him during the summers storms of drowning rain and deafening thunder. They were his great emancipators.
As soon as he was twelve years old his parents first brought him out into the indigo fields. His hatred for them grew with each petal he plucked. Within six months of his time in the fields he had prayed to the Cold Man for some relief and salvation. His hands were constantly stained the deep purple of the flowers he slaved away at.
After six months of pain and suffering the Cold Man finally answered his prayers. Moses needed to kill them, they were weak and beneath him. So he did.
It was on his thirteen birthday, the time and position of he sun were exactly as they had been thirteen years prior. His father was in the hothouse, brewing the purple flowers into the dye while Moses and his mother were picking the petals. The Cold Man spoke in his ear, "Pick up the scythe, one motion and she is gone." And he did. He had expected more of a sound out of her but her end came so swiftly that there was no sound by the wind of the swinging blade.
"Mmm, It feels good does it not my Son? Go dispatch of the man and be free from their shackles." Moses walked across the field, letting the long weapon of his salvation drag behind him. Despite the pleasant spring weather the hothouses door was open. He stood there for a moment watching as the man who had pretended to be his father for so many years worked in the sweat producing heat. "Good-bye Father." The man turned as his adopted sons weapon came slashing through the air, gutting him from clavicle to groin.
Moses loved to think back to that memory whenever he had to watch Solomon live the life that should be his. He prayed to his true Father every night to be allowed to gut that arrogant con man. He smiled softly to himself, last night the prayer was answered with one simple word.
Soon.