Gromet's PlazaDevoured Stories

An Unwanted Education

by S. M. Ackerman

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© Copyright 2010 - S. M. Ackerman - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-m; M+/m; capture; bond; cook; cons/nc; X

My ship anchored half a mile of shore, the deck officer led me to a row boat, one already filled with four crew to row me ashore, he then watched over me as I climbed aboard. My case with the treasures of my life was gently lowered down to me. Without the case there is no reason for me to enter the boat, let alone land on the distant shore.

I have travelled four thousand miles through rough seas and calm days, in a tiny sail boat, just to reach this point. I am driven by impatience to be about my business, but held back by the speed at which the crew can row.

They are scared, there are many tales filled with woe about this place, but then I, unlike them, am protected. Finally, the sand crunches beneath our bow and I make land fall for the first time in seven long months.

Reaching back I take my precious case, then dismissing the crew and boat from my thoughts I turn to face the new land to which I have been called. Behind me the boat departs, soon the ship from whence it came will leave, and I will be alone but ready to meet my calling.

Where to start, first I need to wait, and the best way for an Englishman to wait is with a cup of tea, and that requires water. Relatively simple, something that is easily solved as I can see a stream rolling across the sand, to tumble into the sea, I am sitting in a sand chair I have created by scooping up sand and placing a piece of drift wood on top of it, holding a cup of tea made by building a fire and boiling the water, and feeling quite proud of myself.

Anytime now I convince myself, any time now, I wait eager for the arrival, yet more eager to impart the message I have brought for the people who live a secretive life on this hot tree covered island.

An hour later the full folly of my escapade has been driven deep into my thoughts, forgotten now is my case and the word contained within it.

Now I look over the edge of a large pit, one that is dug deep and filled with wood. My hands that are so perfect for tender embraces and spirit restoring honours are firmly secured behind my back. A thick wooden post presses into my back, coils of woven rope bind my body, creasing my clothes, pinning me in place amidst the wood. A wood block is wedged deep into my mouth and its shape holds it in, effectively silencing my plea’s.

All around me at eye level, no matter where I look are the dirty feet of tribesmen, a glance upwards reveals one, the largest and most barbaric of them all, he is standing upright, looking down at me, a lit fire brand of wood and grasses held out. The flame drops, I close my eyes feeling the heat erupt before me. Soon my clothes begin to smoulder, the first cough caused by the smoke erupts from my lungs.

The flames increase as all around me more wood is thrown into this fire pit. My fate is certain I am to be the main course in a savage’s barbecue. I, John, Fredric, Peter Holdin, am to be eaten, devoured, cannibalised by these people.

I came to feed them knowledge of the word, and instead I feed them on my body and through my lonely demise.

My last thoughts are quite simple, God help their stomachs if not their soul’s, for I am a tough old bird having been a preacher for many many years.


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