Waking Ideas

Day 5
Today I rest. I have collected sufficient fruit and water for my voyage. I leave at dawn.

Day 6
I am happy to be back on the ocean. The smooth up and down motion of the waves calms my trembling hands. The current has carried me west and the sun has traversed the sky above me while I sit here and wait.

I miss my home in London. I miss the English. I miss Providence. I miss my brother. How could all of this have happened to me? How am I so cursed as to have lost everything?

I should not dwell on the past. I should look forward to the future with hope. That is what I have always done. But when my future is cursed, I would rather not think of it, but instead the idyllic scenes of my childhood.

Day 7
[Half of the page is torn out. The remaining half is filled with bloody scratches and marks.]

Day 8
I can see land now, but I do not possess any hope for the future, on land or on sea. I merely accept my curse. If I am branded a traitor because I cannot control my actions any more than the marionette, then so be it.

If only there were a way to escape, to make up for what I have done. For what I will soon do. Damn that voodoo witch! I wish I could with my ink blot out her existence and free myself.

Shortly I will reach land. I will reveal all of my sins when I am returned.

[Editor's Note: This is part of a series of entries taken from a worn journal that was found in a box of mostly worthless trinkets bought at an estate sale years ago. While most of the writing is legible, some of the ink has faded and a few pages are missing. Sam has taken the liberty of filling in any gaps. ]