• The blood stained earth meet the blood stained sky in such a place as this. The shores of the ocean are dyed a mystic orange as the sun sweats its light upon the islands grainy surface. Like the mesh of fishing net, the tops of mediocre waves are stained an alike color of the sand and sky as all things fall into the shadow of the day. An uproarious silence befell this small isolated land as the sun faded beyond the distance of sight. No birds hummed their elated tunes, and winds whipped the palms branches from side to side into a gentle dance. In this serene still-life, only one man sat on the shores-shoulders shrugged into an erratic pose- staring unblinkingly at the flowing of the waves upon the shore; his shore.

    This discombobulation of a human being rested himself with his elbows on his knees and his hands gripping the tracks of hair upon his head with a frustrated glance upon his doughy face. His stare met with that of the oceans and they were locked together for what seemed as endless time.

    "What is it that I have done but slept away my prison sentence?" he queried aloud, as he was accustomed to in his loneliness,” Why have I earned this fate? It is not mine! Mine is to rule the world. My objective! My goal! My Passion! Sea's would roar at my command and mountains would crumble to my toes."

    He sat in silence once more as his rage seeped in slowly. The ocean blinked as it tried to understand his frustration.

    "I was one of the greats- an immortal. My sword was sharpened to a definite point. No body questioned my valor or right to rule. I have ruled all of Europe, and Africa! They are mine...they were mine..." his voice drifted melancholy through the still and humid air,” I stood on the playing field of giants and cut them down at the ankles. I cut out the heart of my enemies, just to keep them as keepsakes! Oh how I miss the war!How I wish I could be there again! The charge of men, hurling themselves together with fist and sword for the goals of their own desire. The cutting down of humans inferior to myself excites me! The moronic moves of their generals astounded me. How I wish I could feast on their blood once more..."

    The ocean shuddered at his thoughts. It hurled waved onto his prison shore with all the power of the rising moon.

    This man was none other than Nathaniel Bowerstone. He was a giant of a man in his own mind. His hands were rough from all the dousing of human blood and flesh they had endured. His eyes were inhabited by views of the most heinous deeds against man. His arms held nothing but the hatred of his noble captives and his heart held Malice towards God.

    "You!" he cried to the sky,” You have done this to me! I am not deserving of this! I have earned my way by war and I had earned it fairly! All my years of toil and triumph for what? To be captured by righteous fools who do not believe that making your own fortunes is right, unless it is governed by them? Do you not want me happy? I wish for war! A war of blood and a war of money. Everyone benefits from war. Children lose fathers so that they may play. Mothers lose husbands and gain freedoms. Husbands lose freedom and gain their hearts desires. Countries are united under one flag and one cause. People are meshed with people for the good of people!"

    As his unkempt emotions flew from heart to mouth, they compelled him to stand.

    "Why have your forsaken me? I have believed in you all of my life! It is you that does not believe in me!"

    Nathaniel stabbed at the sand with his barren feet and yelled only louder.

    "Answer me! Why am I forsaken, when there are Confucians, Hindu, and Muslims that bescourge your beloved earth! Is it not them that hide from you in there so called enlightenments and reincarnations? Punish them! Exile them!"

    As his tension built, he voice could not be silenced. The oceans went meekly clam at the thundering of his voice. He was mad at the world; mad at its people; mad at God.

    "How could you look at me, your faithful servant and call him a blasphemer," he vociferated,” was it not me that sat through every Sunday mass during every week of my life? Even during times of war, I was faithfully at your altar, with sword at my side, ready to do your bidding; YOUR will! Oh, you serpent of the sky! What good has your peaceful ways ever done for us? Even your peacefulness leads us to war! It is of no matter to me however, for I am on the battlefield from now on-whether is be for, or against you."

    As Nathaniel gazed into the heavens, he searched for any sign of life there. Where was his God? All her could see where the twittering of starlight and the blackness of the sky’s’ pupils. Suddenly, the sight became revolting to this small, squatty man. Where ever the stars were harbored in pairs, he could swear he could see the eyes of angels crying at his blasphemy. Where he once saw nothing, he now saw the eyes of a dismayed God. Scared, weary, and empty, Nathaniel made his way to the tree line. He had been a fool. He tramped through the sparse and tall grasses strewn underneath the only bearable part of the island: the shade. This is where Nathaniel made his throne. Sliding down the heart of his usual palm tree, his body split the dry grass into his arm rests and the loamy sands beneath were his pedestal. This is where he collapsed into brooding.

    There was a time where war was not all that he lived for. Many days- many hours- have passed since then but it had still happened. He was a child once, swelling with innocence. Oh how he reviled such days when the world was simple. He recalled his life that could have been mistaken for his childhood in the German country side.

    ***



    It is a lovely day in the gardens of Germany; a perfect day for little boys to make mischief. In the Memoirs of Nathaniel’s mind, a little boy is seen running to and fro from hedge to hedge and from flower to flower, making sure hit every dead flower as he darted about. The arid and dusty petals would fall in a trail to the ground, caught in the speed of this tiny boys running. He scooped down to the unpaved walkways, making his creamy color trousers turn the color of soiled diapers, of the garden and scooped up all manner of bugs and wildlife. As he gleefully played in the muck under toe, removing worms from their holes and bugs from their leafy perches, the call came.

    "Nathaniel, darling!" called the airy and familiar voice of a woman little Nathaniel called mother,” Come in to say goodbye to papa!"

    The lovely and feminine voice shot fear into is fist-sized heart. He shoved the handful of worms and other oddities into his pockets and frantically made his way to the estate house. The house was a giant white monstrosity in the middle of such a lush garden. His mother and father stood between the main columns of the main entrance; is mother in a fine pink gown and his father in a navy silk over coat. As Little Nathaniel skittered his way to them, a shrill scream rung from his mothers lungs as her eyes bugged out on the sight of his coat.

    "Blast you child," she seized his grubby little hands ands began to wipe them clean with a breakfast towel," why do I let you into the garden? Filthy filthy filthy! You are never allowed into that garden again! Do you hear me?"

    "But Ma-ma-" The boy whimpered. The garden was the only source of fun he had!

    "Don't you dare talk back to me child or I will keep you from every window in the house as well. Is that understood, boy? The only time you are ever coming out of that house again, is for church, you understand me?"

    "Y-Yes ma-ma," the boy croaked, practically in tears. Now how will he visit the epic battles or his minds in the shining desserts, and how will he wrestle and tame lions in the depths of the jungle without his wonderful garden?

    For years, until Nathaniel was a man, things like this often reoccurred; no, breakfast or dinner, no drawing, no yelling, no decision making. Mother was always true to her word.

    ***

    A Nathaniel’s' mind fell back into his unfortunate reality, His eyes began to water. He wiped the tears from the sullen expression of his face.

    "That damned woman," he snarled to himself like a scorned child,” she always told me what I could and could not do. I have never done anything wrong. What is wrong with a child’s play?"

    Nathaniel’s mind wondered on and on through the years and into the beginning of his military career. He had finally been able to fight and win epic battles and wrestle lions once more! His tactfulness led him straight to the top of the hierarchy, and now, look at him. He was the lowest of soldiers; the cast down tyrant, the fool that should have foreseen his own end. Oh how it sickened him! Nathaniel sat there for a long time; brooding over past battles with every enemy his hand had conquered. Now he was here, once again the kid that could only sit by the window and know how it feels to go outside and 'play'.

    As Nathaniel sat there pondering things of past relevance, the wind began to rise. The seas began to roar and hiss as the winds buffeted against her. With all the ruckus of sky and water, Nathaniel was forced into the interior of his island, leaving his troubling thoughts on the sand. Has he walked the wisps of air grew every stronger. The flimsy palm trees began to thrash violently against their assailant and weak bushes began to be up rooted. The long, gaunt grasses at his knee began to lash against his body, like the whips against Jesus' back. He began to run. Something was not right. The winds whipped around from the other side of the island with the force a Romans sword and struck him against the face. As the islands abundance of palm tree and foliage began to buckle he could see the clear view of what lay ahead. Over the ocean, stood a vast pillar wind, dust and fire, swirling into one monstrous hurricane.

    "You have come for me, to smite the blaspheming from my mouth! I am undone! “Nathaniel cried as he saw the hands of God move ever widening towards him. The unmistakable feeling of guild flooded into him thorough his eyes, making them water. He did not cry out to God in that moment for repentance. He knew he deserved this entire blood stained hurricane for is deeds of hand and mouth. His soul begged to ask for repentance, but his mouth did not oblige. He stood there, in the wrath of the on coming storm, getting ready to die. Nathaniel would not last through the night.