Stolen World

"Can you tell me what happened?" I asked the Medicine Man.  We were in his hut, in Africa, 1802.
I was on the floor.
"They came in ships, floating among the water, and when they came in, they shot at us, taking some of us captive--taking all of us captive, except for those who got away or were killed...."
"And ever time they came...we ran. There was not stopping the whitemen with killing sticks."
"Snakes?"
"Silver." he nodded.1

I sit here on this ship, crowded by hundreds, even thousands, now. I had been allowed on the deck this morning, and as I was up there, I saw that these whitemen were the same as us, they spoke their language and had their own tricks, so similar to ours.
"Land!" came the holler from above.
We all started to stir, elbowing each other and grunting to get up.
"Sit down!" a white man screamed at us.
"Bring up the deck divers!" came a voice from above.
The whiteman down here came over and pointed to five of us...myself included. He made a motion with his hands which meant come here.
I remembered when we couldn't even step between bodies, this area was so crowded. About half of us were killed by the plagues and diseases.
"We've got a full load, down there. Most successful trip I've seen or been on, yet." the whiteman said.
"Put that one up there." another man pointed to me.
They took my ropes from around my wrists and tied me to the hulk of the ship.
I started struggling, kicking, biting, yelling for the others to help, but I got nothing.
Then, there was a snap, and a burning pain at my back. I screamed, grimacing in pain.
Then the biting sensation came again and again! The whitemen laughed at me, seeing my pain was becoming their enjoyment, I clamped my mouth shut, and stared hatred towards them. They stopped laughing as much...some seemed almost nervous.
Finally, they cut me down from there. I stumbled towards the ground, meeting it quickly.
"That one's got hatred." they said, over my head.
"Well, once he's off the boat, he's not our problem." the other man said. "Feel bad for the sucker who gets this one. He'll be a hard one."
They both laughed at that.2

And, four years later, I stand here, sweeping the floor at the Murdocks home, and remembering this. My world was stolen from me, my world and those alike, hardly exist--if they do, anymore.3