Thursday, March 12, 2009

My throat screams for a glass of water. I try to make sound but not even a croak etches its way out. My wrists and ankles are cut and sore from shackles. It's been seven weeks and they have yet to tell me why I'm being held like this. Not that it matters. I already know. You can't live forever without making a few enemies along the way. I made a lot. Don't get me wrong. This is probably not some nefarious evil doer that has a dynamic plan to overtake the world. This is a rag tag group of pirates who simply hate me for all I've done to rid the seas of their filthy kind. And now I'm being tortured. The fleet will find me soon enough. I've no doubt that they have picked up a witch by now to help them track me down. And she'll be the best witch money can buy, because the entire Portugese kingdom backs me. Laugh and drnk heartily and enjoy it for as long as you can, mates. Your time is up, and I will pour sand down each and ever one of my tormentors throats. They will know this pain as I have.