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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 15 (v.1) - THE SLAVE

Submitted: April 05, 2007

Reads: 153

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Submitted: April 05, 2007



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The hunter of the groups. The food finder and maker of the home. Builder of the place where the creation of life is manifested in the bliss of Mother Natures womb. This place was now the reality of them both.

The man went for the throat of the Keepers helper. Thrusting with a savage force, which did not seem possible from this person. Gradding the part where much blood comes from was torn. This savage motion was in solidified energy. Releasing a shock of electric, it would seem from the claw-like projections. The Keepers helper yelled at the man,"move". More in a sharp vocal energy which fitted the situation. Only to wait for the time of the arm to react and coil. Releasing the force of the stick on some foreign body to the stick. Only know getting the first of the smell and odor of its duty once again.

The Keepers helper grunted and hit the man again. The man fell limp with the second blow. That one which seemed to find the stars of eternity. There compacted in that one instant. Jolting the mind into alertness and the throb which follows the relaxation of the body. Ideally, the hands fell away away from the woman. The hard hair back of the helpers hand seemed to smile in a strange way. That sudden moment of grip. The man noticed it. Then fell off in the conquered way. Submitted his manhood to the Keepers helper.

The woman next to him in a mothering manner, reached for his hand. There, with only the motion of a womans hand, she placed it on his. Giving to him the needed feeling of emotional stability in life. Giving to the inner soul the reassurance of childhood. That time where butterflies and running streams filled the many hours of childhood. The place of happiness and no care.. The cloud which leaves us all and goes back in its place in the body.

page 33

Now the subtly the mothering woman gripped the hand. Charging the body with a new life and a hoped breath. Humid emotions played raw in the hole of a slave ship. Only the cold water and rocks could find place in this hole. On the rock of the ballest a rat looked and found a fast drink of water. Somehow seperating the salt from the water and doing what rats do best, survive. Biting a slaves body and gnawing on the dead, the rats lived very well in the hole of the slave ship.

A small spot the hole of the ship. Down in the bottom, where any cargo on the shelf would arrive wet. Yet cost less in the fee of transportation. About the size of a garage small with wood walls fighting the pressures of the seven oceans. Kissing the waves as she planes through the water. Seeming to cut it like a fresh baked cake. Pulling the waves with the soft center of the cake.. Melting into one wood fighting water.

Rocks of all sizes used to keep the ship upright in the water. With the aid of the ships load master and the strong muscle in the backs of the sailor the rocks were exchanged for the onloading cargo. I would imagine that overloading was better for all concerned. Cold and wet would seem to be the order of the day with probably a few hours of the pumps with the continuous pounding of the waves and storms. Time would improve the ship like all other things man endeavors to create.

Large, rough hewn beams, cut with perfection for the timber mating which was taking place for the construction of the ship. Which had opened the doors of nations and closed others by conquest. Man groping over the oceans of the world. Now capturing other people for the profit of the sale into slavery. Finding the courage in the ways of life, to fling young children and others into the holes of slave ships. Brutality to the highest essence of mans imagination. Fascinating some ways and marveled at other times. Calling into order something special, created by the ways of all.

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