The ship was no bigger than the ferry I would sometimes take across the Mersey River back home. It had a crew of 4 the Captain greeting me he was an Arab man wearing a soiled dish dash, with a greeting and sardonic smile I could see he was trouble.So master he said off to filth Island he said, i queried why it may be called this but he did not elaborate and told me the sailing would take 2 hours.Then came the passengers all of them native woman and one younger native man.We set sail at 10 O clock prompt, I watched the shore line retreat. After maybe 20 minutes I heard the Captain summon the natives to the deck, I was then more surprised when without question they all stripped naked as the day they were born passing their clothing to one of the ships crew who promptly put them in Hessian sacks tying the topI watched intrigued as they sat down cross legged awaiting something. One of the crew set up a chair and what seemed to be a shaving kit beckoning to the eldest woman who I guess to. I am no clairvoyant, yet neither is the woman without a face. It does not hurt. Even fading memory of pains and aches that happened a million years ago. Time given- all wounds heal. Yet the mask is still there reminding me of what can and cannot be. Destiny it seemed has played a cruel, cruel joke on me. Do not now or forever think I am heartless just because I fear what is behind the mask. We all have our masks, we all have our pretences that never seem to fade away. I am taught by the greatest teacher that has ever played the game and I am proud of this fact. I do not care or take care of you. I heard this before. And there are some friends that know this to be true. And the mask is still there laughing and cursing me. I can no longer focus, everything is a blur. “Take my hand for the moment.” The masked woman began. “But only for the moment- for in life there are no guarantee’s” If this was meant as a forewarning of some apocalyptic event that is meant to tear me a sunder- I am.
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