Year 1833
A prologue by Jack.
"Happy New Years, Jack."
The reestablishment of British rule on the Falklands was upon us. This place was built by
slaves, and would be ultimately for them. It wouldn't be long before Britain overtook the South Atlantic. The direction of these winds were taking us to another familiar end.
Here I was . . . spending another year in London, England. High waves crashed. Another boat passed through the midst, with her head down, with me on it. She wore a name I couldn't remember. It wasn't because I had a poor memory that I couldn't remember her name, but tonight smoke formed on the deck, covering the letters and all evidence that she had one. Fog blew through my nose, as I considered the life within me, beating again and again like a symphony of drums. I was so weary of being the only one. Talking out loud to myself. It could drive a person crazy. So why was I still existing? This sphere of repetition was bothersome. There had to be more. I wanted to find meaning.
Like a woman.
One I can keep. We can bend the earth together. She could be my soul purpose. Some soul that can stay 800 years with me. No problem.
Oh love, when I find you . . that's it. I'm giving you everything.
You can have my crate of secrets.
