story part ii


the waves seemed to go on. blue after sky is all my blurry holes could peer out. a knife had pressed into my back. the third goon, the lesser of the uglier ones- he still had strange gashes and what looked the upkeep of a sailor lost at sea, without need for grooming. we still made metal shillets at the monastery i was at. a host of activity, soaps , brushes, metal tools, fillings, teeth, were crafted by men who spent means by such acquired to entertain themselves. and as i was thinking of the last hot meal, which had bubbled its last strength into that searing red gush across my shoulder, made clearly apparent in the golden light, that nothing was escaping that day. i gave out a large gulp of pain, as miserable teeth grinned in all lost recognition at me. only thing i knew that saved me, was the large black paladin cross across my neck. when the pirate saw that, all i remember was a loud clud from a black iron handle swing across my face and make a nasty sound. i woke up on the southeastern shore of what seemed to be quite piece and parcel of sand and tree. the bruises seemed to bathe in the sand filling cracks in between as i lay still watching the wind push a jetty far out into the fading sun. that cross which i had received from a black slave, was very unique. he said he got it on a pilgrimage to a very large space. space is what he said. he drew in the sand , a quick sketch of a temple, with a big steps leading down to the sanctorum. i had never seen it. but somehow i knew where it was. why it was represented on the swinging t on his neck. he said it was the true savior, that he found, and like the darkened skin that gave dawn to his eyes, was the same of he who born out the suffering . it was all very strange. when your drugged, beaten, and lack of hunger , what stories they tell to keep alive; i never did. never spoke much. had my tongue stabbed when i was eight by a rough muslim officer in the army passing through our town. it was a small town. but i had that day , had an incident.. which rioted the long beared man to act hastily, something i remembered.. for a long time.

we were sold on to that island has slaves. but for profit or flesh, most of those who they towed away did not make it to where they were meant to go. by my cross, i was made to be some red blood priest mixed up . mesquito i call it. the empires i would visit in later years will give testimony to this in the future. the knife that had come into my back now stepped forward into my thoughts. i had stabbed the large ugly scarred man with a long filing pole used to beat fish left in the boat , it had lent the hand free from her neck, and dive hard .