"Mother?" I whisper when I see a frail woman sobbing in the open. She looks up slightly, shaking her head.
"Charlie," she breathes between tears. "Your father died for nothing." She echoes the words until a silence falls over, the yells outside the only noise heard.
"What happened?" I ask, my heart thumping in my chest. She laughs suddenly, as if she didn't quite believe what was about to be said.
"The king has made a new proclamation. No one is to move westward to the mountains." I laugh too. It couldn't be true; we had won the war. We had fought. We had died. Not them. Not the British. Where was our say?

I stood up straighter as I read the new act. Taxes, taxes, and more taxes, all put onto us. Coffee and molasses and wines— the list seemed to go on forever. From behind me I heard a man growl in frustration.

"How'm I supposed to sell my rum now?" he shouted out to no one. I sighed heavily, not sure of what to think.

I walked through the busy marketplace. Everything seemed more tense, men glaring at one another as if sharing a heavy grievance. Shaking the feeling off, I came up to the newspaper stand. The usually- busy spot was now almost bare, with only a frowning worker to populate the counter.

"How much for the news today, William?" I ask the man casually. He points towards a hasty-looking sign that reads far more pence than the day before. "What's this?" I gasp. 
His voice is a grumble when he replies, "King George decided to add more of those acts onto our plate. Now every printed product has a tax on it." I stare unbelievably and unblinkingly towards the price once more. My head swarms with foul words targeted at King George and his arrogant followers. Shouldn't we be in charge of taxing ourselves?

tea! Tea, as in the universal drink that accompanies us at every meal. Bubbling eruptions of pure rage pulse through me. I pound my fists into the air, screeching out my thoughts, "No taxation without representation! No taxation without representation!" My sentence becomes a war chant shared by the mob.
"No taxation without representation!"
"No taxation without representation!"
"NO TAXATION WITHOUT REPRESENTATION!"

BANG! The sound of a gun shot runs through the crowd like lightning. Then, "CRISPUS IS DEAD!" a man screeches. My gaze lands on a black form, who I assume to be Crispus, and my breath hitches in my throat. They will kill me if I stay here, I realize with a jolt. Cowardly, I sprint away, hearing the last sounds of the attack behind me as if they were chasing me.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!

Suddenly, a sharp knock on my door tells me it's time. Silently, I slip out of my house and stalk towards the port. The waters around me churn a murderous black and the coal-like clouds dance around in the sky, waiting for us to strike. Our instructions are simple: touch nothing but the tea.  The boat creaks when we board it, but the wind covers us with a fast-paced whistle. I grab the bottom of a box of tea, with Samuel, the leader of the Sons of Liberty, grabbing the other end. Together, we threw it into the thirsty water, my feather falling off with it. I check the rest of my Native American costume to make sure it's still in place before continuing my mission for the rest of the night. If they didn't repeal those acts and outrageous tea taxes now, I don't know what will.

"Open up!" a muffled voice barks. I move my glance to the door, which is shaking on the hinges from all the banging. "Now or do face charges!" it threatens. Slowly, I rise and admit the man. His face is hard and nose pinched up in a way one would when disgusted. I do not make eye contact, but still feel him scanning my clothes and dirty face. If this were anyone else, I would feel ashamed. But with him, I feel nothing. 
"I need a bed and food. Can you share?" I know it's no question; it's a warning. I nod and point to my quarters, wanting Mother to still have a place to sleep. Only half-aware, I grab the last of the stale carbs and deliver it to the soldier. Afterwards, I pray to God to let us have freedom, to let the Quartering and Townshend and every other ridiculous act to leave our land alone.