THE SLAVE

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

Chapter 4 (v.1) - THE SLAVE

Submitted: March 26, 2007

Reads: 175

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Submitted: March 26, 2007

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page 7 chapter 2 Cabins

The captain was sitting down with both arms stretched out on a map. The cabin was that of a captain - high above the water line and high above the smell of the waste. If the wind was right, the smell would seem to hide for the moment, giving the olfactory system time to clean itself. The cabin was making a life on the high seas. All energy of his youth had been spent learning the ropes of being a good sailor. Then the years of training led to this final state of being a captain of a ship.

The money merchants, along with the pirate trade, filled the need foe the slaves in the new land. The customs of many countries allowed for slavery in different forms and levels, all coordinating with the powers that be and the money that be, at this time in life and society. Much of it was invested, with the sole purpose of making a profit and that being the bottom line. Capital was finding its way into the new and bustling sea trade.

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Africian coastal ports allowed for the the root system to filter into the back woods and find cargoes of human flesh. Brought down to the coast to trade to the ships that came in the night. They were the captured, from other tribes in the region. Sold to the ships men for rum and the few and rare shining pieces of metal trinkets. Shaped and formed into things, which for some strange reason, aoolow men to sell men for monetary purpose.

The captain lifted his head and looked toward the girl in the corner. Lying asleep on the folded and crumpled blanket and mat. The breath from her lips filled the air with a heated sweat. It smelled of the jungle in the low parts, and og rotted teeth. Her skin was like the silk of the far east, with the rag-like hair shrouding her body. She couldn't have been more than fifteen.

Looking back down at the map, he seemed to be looking for the areas which were many and unexplored. The regions of the world where men did not return from the bowls of the mother earth. Hard tar-filled cracks, lined the hands. Some smiling and others wearing a frown. Gesturing in the manner of faces, like the ones below in the cargo hole. Knowing soap and freshness were not part of the times. A hidden rage of greed filled the muscles and tendons of the hands, as if pulling the gold and hidden opportunity.

The face was that of a pirate, full of lines and scars, which kept a history of his life in some strange way, reflecting the soul of the inner person, the outer bark of the person. Telling the world, this is me. This is my cover and shell of my existence. Tar-stained areas crested the far ends of the mouth, making a mixture of spit, tobacco, rum, and tar from mouth wipes.

Eyes that glowed with a firey glow of hot, burning coals, seemed to fill the dark hollow spots on the face made for the eyes. Lined dirt and unknown matter surrounded the eye area, for a feel of the warmth which emanated from the burning coals.


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