Authority

The word had come down from the Authority

there was a shipwreck

everyone aboard was lost

the village and surrounding country took their Word

no one challenged the Authority

she was the lone survivor

but there was no point in saying she was

the infection was at the bone

 

sensitive

if pressed it could enter the bone

an untreated staph infection can kill its host

staph wasnt smart

she was smart

if alone wasnt enough

            

to contend with being who she couldnt be

                                                      

she also had to contend with the horror that entered that day through her eyes

of the shipwreck  

                             and the slaughter that ensued as they floundered in high tide at the islands sandy edge

an orchestrated maelstrom  splashed blood-red

bodies and heads cleaved

raw iron held in strong hands

their bestial grunt and ferocity 

terror ripped at her senses

 

stilled her body

                 

                            then something she hadnt a name for embraced her brain
bathed it in cool viscous oil that eased and erased the apoplectic violence twisting her mettle and oriented her to accept what she saw  readily   and not submit

or shut down

 

accept   and escape

before her she saw exactly how it was to go

at once the path was aflame and diminishing   waning

she clutched the hem of her long skirt to her hip and bolted amid the confusion of axes and cutlasses swung and hurled ran between the hewed fallen bodies horrific shrieks and unstaunched blood gouts  ran madly across the tortured sand and the shallow surf gored pink

  

she plunged into the jungle steps ahead of beasts who ran after her
their callused talons outstretched and snapping

the jungle absorbed her

 

it erased her trail and presence

they hadnt a tracker among them and even if they did he wouldnt have found her 

the ropy vines and fleshy trees snatched her up like a babe and handed her off to the next and to the next and to the next  

she flew like a rare tropical bird through their canopy 

and at the isles end she was tossed into the clear blue surf and pushed under a cutbank to a clandestine cave where freshwater leaked from its ceiling and fangs and fed her raw sea fries mollusk and weed

the ship plundered

every body assured dead  heads collected and hurled into the sea by their hair

the Authority decided to leave her there to a remote island death

she followed later

                              in their phosphorescent trail the sea kept fresh

and the wind held their noxious scent for her nose like a drift of black smoke back to the distant mainland

she could not be who she was

she had to struggle with what she witnessed and could not confide in anyone

some with gall asked who she was and she answered who would you have me be

she spoke only when she was addressed

after a considerable time

                                           she could sleep deeply without waking to terror or shaken by turbulent nightmares

though that is not to say she forgot

she took it like an oyster takes an irritating bit of sand or invading crumble of seashell and laid over it  and over it
and over it  until the irritant became a pearl  a luminescent burden

a thought never unthought

she once caught a glimpse of herself looking out to sea in direction of the immanent green island in the reflection of a circular mirror hung in a tree   likely forgotten because of the raucous festival in the village that day

she saw her black hair pulled back in plaits  cord holding it  despite the womenfolk insisting she ought to hold it with delicately colored ribbons

the kind of adornment the men liked

she saw the setting sun strike the hard cleft of her cheekbones the hard flat of her cheeks  it lap at her throat and bared shoulders  dusting speckled gold on her plain white wrap and the vee of her cleavage

it was odd she could recognise herself 

    

but she also recognised that not only that she was lovely and she was alive

but she could fool the Glass too

the Authority watched through the Glasses

early Sunday morning dream,  23  8. 15

0006,  Monday,  24  8. 15