A terror seized spirit

Nightfall quickly descended blanketing the physical world.  Stillness dominated behind the black iron gates as a cloudless night gave way to the low hanging moon spilling its illumination on to the material world.  Looming shadows concealed the unearthly and their malicious agenda.  Resentment centuries old seethed with animosity.  Vexed by memories weaved of cruelty and violence it lusted for vengeance for having a cursed destiny. 

Slumped over against one of the oldest head stones in the rear of the cemetery a half concealed figure remained motionless on the ground with its legs folded beneath it while its arms rested at its sides. The head hung at an awkward and unnatural angle.  The blue swollen hands looked as though they tried to push itself up from the damp ground, but gravity won out over all efforts. Slowly gravity began to draw down its body fluids.  Deep within the spirit of Jose Rivera he fought to understand what had happened to him and who was this other that pushed up against his consciousness as his physical body had ceased functioning some time ago.  Such force an anger he had never known before was upon him in his final stages of death pushing him from his physical body.  Terror seized his spirit as he looked down at his motionless body slumped over.  Time had lost all meaning to him.   His confusion was vast and endless.  Panic-stricken; his spirit cringed as words no longer were the way of communication.  Only deep sorrow accompanied him as he continued looking down and feeling how wrong it all felt being a part of the darkness that dominated.  Continuing to gaze at his motionless body, he could still feel the other presence.  Unable to move from where he hovered, he had no other choice then to watch on in horror as the unspeakable began to take place before his very spirit. It was something that went against the laws of nature defying creation itself.

Thick gold carpet cushioned her feet as she closed the vertical blinds across from the contemporary art that lined the walls.  Brass lamps softly illuminated the living room giving the white leather sofas the appearance of suede.  Scented candles and crystal figurines sat on brass coffee tables.  In center of everything, a black lacquer entertainment center housed an expensive media system with a 50-inch high definition television.  The opposite wall housed rows of books from ancient African history to the civil rights era, and spirituality to the paranormal with six small yet powerful speakers meshed in between them softly circulated the music of Miles Davis while she made herself comfortable reading the autobiography of Malcolm X.  The worn and beaten book was one of her favorites.  After six years in the department, she continued to remain unaffected by the department's silent intolerance of strong African descended women.  She prided herself in taking charge of her own life and not submitting to the constant family pressures in settling down getting married and starting a family like so many women in her family from the Bayou.  Sierra Sheldon felt quite comfortable with her life the way it was. 

The soft leather caressing her body brought out a sigh of contentment as she turned the pages of her favorite paper back.  "Hummm I think I'm gonna change my name to Sierra X...yeah," she chuckled to herself.  Hours later, her eyelids grew increasingly heavy as the words on the page blurred, and her surroundings dimmed. The book now rested on her chest as her breathing changed signaling that sleep had now claimed her opening the way for the dream-time to become her reality during the night.  Behind the closed eyelids, another world began to form; another era pushed its way to the foreground.  Silently she stood watching the activities unfolding before her.  Black people dressed in tattered and worn clothing.  A great sadness had engulfed them as they went about their task, hard and heavy work burdened their bodies bending their backs and breaking their spirits.  Everywhere she looked, she witnessed anguish and sorrow that felt contagious.  “I gotta get outta here,” she said looking around desperately, "how do I get outta here?"  The next thing she knew; she felt strong hands grabbing her.  "What da hell do you think you’re doing...jus standing around like you ain’t got nothing to do," the voice said.  As she turned around to meet the face that spoke, she was shocked as she was man handled.  "This niggra needs a lesson bout wasting time on this here plantation oughta throw you to the gators in them swamps," he said spitting the wad of brown saliva on the ground from the chewing tobacco; red faced and obese she immediately recognized the man.  Utter disbelief fell over her like lead, as she was being drug toward the field.  She heard the others weeping calling out the name Shelby.  "Who is this Shelby? Are they referring to me?"  Then she was roughly thrown down to the ground as she looked up she saw three other faces she recognized standing over her; speechless and horrified she watched as a cowhide whip was cracked over her then suddenly a voice cried out," she's momma Tutu's!  Boy you don’t wanna do that," one of the white men said.  "Well she ain't got no cause standing round shiftless wit fields needing tending to," he said spitting on the ground again, "get up niggra," he shouted as the others laughed at him.  The familiarity was eerie their faces she had known but how? Moments later the white men left and a large broad boned woman almost the color of night picked her up from the ground as if she were a rag doll.  Her speech was strange yet familiar.  The melodic accent told her that she was different.  She felt powerful and strong.  Soon others gathered around her.  Their warmth was comforting to her.  "Their faces," she thought to herself," I know these faces, but not from here," she mumbled as the terror drifted away from her.  "I know you...I know all of you," she said.

"Of course you do girl...much as ol man Reese and momma tutu been looking after you...keeping you outta trouble," a young man said laughing. 

"Awe now Rufus stop teasing her."

"No...I know you from somewhere else." she insisted until the ring of an annoying phone woke her from the dream.

"Woooo," she said still startled and amazed from the dream's content, breathing heavy looking around wide eyed as if the players of the dream would reappear again to confirm her thoughts as she ignored the ringing phone.  "Damn what time it is?" She strained to see the illuminated digital numbers reading 7 am.  "Damn on my day off…gimme a break," she said sitting up with the book still in her hand.  "Awe man what'da hell?  Her mind raced trying to make sense of the dream and all of its players.  Bit by bit it all came back to her, the pieces began to fall in place sounds, smells, feelings, and emotions.  She rubbed her forehead as more of the pieces of the dream returned to her.  "The 1700s?  No, that can't be right."  Then more and more of the dream's scenery flashed in her mind's eye confirming her worst thoughts, hitting her hard leaving her feeling dumbfounded.
 "A slave...I was a slave?"  Her face frowned as she wrapped her mind around the concept.  Glancing down at the book, she still held questioning its contents as to weather or not the book had influenced her dream.  "That's impossible I've read Malcolm's stuff a hundred times over...and it never made me dream I was a slave before," she mumbled, and then a familiar face came to the forefront dropping her heart into her stomach.  Then all of a sudden she remembered a fear so intense flooding over her, rough calloused hands that man handled her throwing her to the ground as if she were nothin more then trash.  Remembering the faces of her tormentors that stood over her, she could feel bile rising up in her throat.  She fought back the urge to expel her early morning stomach contents.  "Sonuvabitch!!! The white boys just transferred...but how can that be?"  Bewilderment and disbelief rendered her almost motionless, still sitting on the couch.  "Could this be De Ja Vu? I knew it was something about them that just didn't sit right...damn," she said getting up to pace the floor.  "No, this can't be right, I must be tripping." Just then, the phone rang again; sucking her teeth with a sigh she picked up the cordless phone to check the LCD screen W. Jackson read across the miniature window.  "Oh cool...yo...you ain't gonna believe this dream I had...man it was the weirdest," she said becoming silent as the words from the other end demanded her silence.  Seriousness then etched across her face.  "What? You gotta be shitting me...you too... no way Jackson...no way.  This is too weird...what...who...momma C."  Then she remembered among all the faces one stood out clearly, it was the one that picked her up from the ground.  "Momma Tutu they called her," she mumbled to herself, forgetting she was still on with Jackson.  Then another familiar face came to her, "Serg too," she said snapping from her waking dream state.  "Yo...Jackson.  "Alright see you in a little bit," she said hanging up the phone.

what'cha doing now...I'm coming over...we gotta talk," she said pausing for a response from

I hoped you enjoyed this excerpt from book two of the series
"To Avenger and Resurrect"  available at amazon.com
 http://astore.amazon.com/wwwicosochch-20 and you can visit me at
www.wix.com/soyinkaiyabo/chaoschronicals 

Cruel and unusual Punishment

Three quarters of the way partially constructed the new police administration complex stood ominously over the ill-acquired land, resentment contempt and malice furnished the atmosphere casting a constant gloom that hung over head.  Despite its centrally located area vehicles and pedestrian traffic was almost nonexistent.  The pad locked gate and chain link fence topped with razor wire seemed almost unnecessary; as no one dared to trespass onto the ill-fated property.  Talk among the construction workers of bizarre and strange accidents circulated throughout the community.  Children that would normally find ways behind secured fences found elsewhere to create mischief.  Drug addicts and crack heads looking to steel what ever a construction site had to offer for their fix avoided the area like the plague; as did prostitutes and their tricks that normally had no qualms about where they conducted business also avoided the area.  All avoided the area except crazy Crilly who was prone to delusions of grandeur.  Most times he still considered himself Louisiana’s  most distinguished, and prominent top criminal defense attorney; that charged elaborate retainer fees that allowed him to live a life of luxury in the French Quarters as he greased the palms of judges, politicians  and other officers of the court.  When he was not rattling off verdicts from past cases, he seemed to suffer from multiple personality syndromes and other behavior disorders.   Frequently seen pushing his shopping cart from one area of the town to another, spewing racial insults as he went along, retaliation for his remarks was accompanied with bottles, or bricks leaving numerous scars concealed beneath layers of filth.   Pushing his cart to the police administration complex he stopped before the large pad locked gates that barred his entrance.
 "How the hell am I suppose to get to court," he snapped eyeing his wrist for an imaginary watch.  "Gonna be late again," he yelled ramming his cart into the gate.  "Gonna put them coons away for good.  Open the god damned gates," he ranted before the locked gate shoving the cart into it several times.  "I'll get somebody out here to open theses damned gates...somebody's gonna get these gates open," he said completely oblivious to an ever growing doom that he summoned with the offensive racial slurs he continued to hurl into the atmosphere.  "God damned conspiracy by them jigaboos an pick-ninnies keeping me locked out with affirmative action and civil rights...niggers ain't got any rights that us whites got to adhere to.

"You might wanna rethink that with your little feeble, jacked up twisted mind, and I know you better get your stinking ass moving Crilly," the voice said from behind. 

He was so emerged in his petty ranting he never heard the police cruiser arrive or the officer exit the vehicle; startled by the voice he spun around blinded by the headlights.  He flinched and attempted to shield his eyes from the cruiser's dome lights.  Seconds later, another cruiser arrived.  "Yo...Shields you alright man?"

"Yeah Hassan I'm cool...just this dirt bag over here with his shit.  I just ran his ass from outta the Armstrong plaza not to long ago.  He was messing with the vendors. Them vendors are gonna kick your ass if you keep calling them towel heads," Shields said agitated.

"They ain't from this country...they ain't got no real rights...they just sand niggers wit affirmative action...that's how they get in this country and ruin it."

"Ruin? Oh you gotta be shitting me," Hassan said stepping closer to the man despite the steady offensive odor reeking from him.  "Let me tell your devil ass a thing or two.  First of all as soon as that Mayflower bullshit ship rolled up all holy shit has jumped off. Native Americans slaughtered left and right.  Stealing their land all in the name of Christianity.  Ya slaughtered people that helped your devil asses to survive, and then your devil asses go to another  land and steal the people to do the labor on the land that your blood thirsty savages soaked in blood because you devils were to damn lazy to till the land yourselves so you enslaved the Africans.  See everywhere you devils go ya stir up shit and ruin an other wise peaceful existence all in the name of Christianity, and god.  Ya don't know how to live in harmony with nature or any other human beings; ya bring destruction everywhere ya go.  So don't tell me about anybody ruining shit...now get your ass outta here before you become a hospital case and then get locked up, and become a hospital case again," Hassan said with the intensity of an on coming firestorm.  Completely disconcerted appalled and shocked Crilly's face turned almost burgundy as speechlessness dominated him. However, with the on set of another personality anger began to well up in him, suddenly he over turned his shopping cart sending a loud clatter into the air and then stomped off grumbling beneath his breath. 

"Yo man you better come and get this shit before somebody else gets it," Shields yelled out with humor coating his words, "ya dirty bastard...no, make that ya racist dirty bastard."

"See man...what I tell ya...as soon as the moon is full it makes'em really crazy...six kinds of crazy.  I hate working at night when it's a full moon, or a new moon… all the freaks come out," Hassan said looking up at the sky.

"Yeah and that little dirty bastard has been running around here for as long as I can remember...spouting the same old shit.  I don't know how many times he done got his ass kicked messing with people…they gonna throw his in the swamp one day, and that’ll be it for his dirty ass."

"I'll tell ya one thing he's pushing his luck out here....he can keep messing around out here if he wants to, but I get a bad feeling about this spot, and I ain't looking forward to our district house being  here either," Hassan said with apprehension.

"Yeah I know that's right...especially after that guy getting accidentally hung and his body going missing...like the shit just vanished."

"Oh and don't forget about the bull dosser...that was some freaky shit too," Shields said with a shutter.

"And you know what else," Hassan said looking around as if afraid he would be heard by the unseen, "when I come out here to do a property check I get the strangest feeling that there's somebody here...I never see anything but it feels like somebody's watching me, and I don't mean like cameras. I mean like I can feel a presence," Hassan said glancing around the deserted site.

"Let's get the hell outta here...consider this place checked and let's roll."

"You ain't said nothing but a word brotha," Shields said making for the cruiser.

"Wait what about the nut job across the street?"

"Shit...man he's on his own...let' em come and get his own shit," Shields said getting into the cruiser with Hassan getting into his as well.  Crilly watched the cruisers disappear into the night before scurrying back across the street to retrieve his belongings.  "Affirmative action darkies running this great country...what's the world coming to," he said setting the cart upright. Within minutes, he was picking up his meager belongings placing them back in the cart, but as he was preparing to leave voices in the distance caught his attention.  Peering into the darkness he called out, "who's out there?" Again, he heard muffled voices.  "Bet them coons are in there stealing from the judges chambers...humph civil rights my ass...shoulda kept' em slaves that's all they good for anyway,” he said leaving his cart to search for an opening in the fence.

"Psss...Ned...over here," the disembodied voice said snapping Crilly's head around to see where it came from.  "Huh...what' da you say?"

"Over here," the voice came again more distinctively drawing him to the more secluded area of the site.

"Ned…over here."  Crilly followed the voice until he found an opening in the fence. "Finally...let's see what we got here," he said squeezing through the opening.  His eyes adjusted to the darkened area.  "So this is where the new court house is gonna be," he laughed to himself standing there gazing up at the unfinished structure, with windows and doors still waiting to be set.  As he stared on at the unfinished structure, a strange and peculiar sight flickered into view and disappeared just as quickly.  "What the hell?"  He shook his head and the images returned, and vanished as suddenly.
 "Damned jigaboos play’n tricks...come outta there I know you shiftless slaves is in there trying to steal."  Suddenly the translucent face of an old woman faded into view.  Her lips moved angrily disconcerting Crilly forcing him a step backward as his heart raced trying to gather his composure  Then other voices invaded his ears, "he's one of them," a disembodied voice growled.  He spun around trying to see where the angry words came from that seemed so close to his ears.  "Who's… who's out there?"  Fear began to creep toward him coloring the night with a malevolent air as angry voices continued to express their displeasure.  "That's it I'm getting the hell outta here."  Suddenly another face appeared illuminated by the intense full moon.  Hostility accompanied the full body that made itself visible fading into view beneath the scornful face.  Denser and denser the figure became causing Crilly to shutter as the hate-filled eyes glared at him before disappearing into the night.  "This was our land...these were our homes."

"Who is it?"  Then he felt a powerful force shove his shoulder almost knocking him from his feet.  Rising up through the building’s newly laid concrete foundation a dozen translucent figures marched toward Crilly then faded before his eyes.  Confusion unhinged the already waning sanity.  In attempting to flee, he ran screaming to the building's far end around the side of the fence.  In complete confusion, he had forgotten where he had come in at, and groped at the chain link fence while attempting to keep panic from over powering him again.  However, out of the darkness another powerful blow shoved him into the fence.  "Hey Ned how's it feel...ain't got master protecting you.  That's what you and the rest of' em use to say to me."  Crilly looked around wildly, "who's Ned," he questioned looking desperately through the darkness.  "Jus leave me along," he pleaded bouncing off the fence.   Immediately he set off running blindly around the building.  Another face appeared and disappeared again sending an uncontrollable fear through him.  "Help me somebody please,” he whimpered trying to run stepping on the shoe laces of the worn out boots he wore.  "What...What 'da want from me?"  No sooner then he finished his sentence his head snapped backwards almost sending him to the ground, “please...please."

"They just wanted to live in their homes in peace, but they forced them off their land and out of their homes," a faded image of an elderly woman said with anger as tears streamed down her face. Once more, the image faded from view replaced with another, a face that seemed unmarked by age.  The flow of time was different around it.  Another era emanated from it as it bore down on Crilly.   "You have some unfinished business with that one," the other face said looking past Crilly into the darkness, and then at Crilly again. 

"The way he died was horrible, but the way he lived was just as horrible.  How a human being could do that to another human being is unthinkable.  But we know you and your kind aren't human beings...you're a kind of a man, but one without consciousness,” the face hissed.  Crilly's heart raced in his chest threatening to explode.  He grabbed his chest thinking to himself that he was going to die of a heart attack," you’re gonna kill me I'm gonna die," he moaned as the disembodied voices conversed among themselves. 
"The dead like you don't exist in our existence like they do with the living," the scornful face spat indignantly,” looking past Crilly.  Then Crilly was suddenly grabbed by the scruff of his neck and drug backwards. 

I hope you have enjoyed this excerpt from the series "To Resurrect and Avenge" available at amazon and you can visit www.wix.com/soyinkaiyabo/chaoschronicals

The 7th

"Welcome to district number 7, the house of pain...cause this is gonna be a pain in your ass if you don't like black folks....and by the redness of your faces I ain't far off the mark.  Oh by the way...the welcome wagon that just left here that's sergeant Richards and he's got an intolerance for intolerance.  I take it that that's how you all ended up down here in the shit hole," said Byron Shields with a broad grin.

"Look buddy...it was just an overtime detail...what's the big deal."

"The big deal is the shit hitting the fan big time," Ron said with his feet propped up leaning back in a chair that groaned beneath his weight.  Byron Shields nick named Ron the 6-year vet had dreams of becoming a stand up comedian; comic relief was his goal until the hands of fate turned his life in another direction.  His father’s unfortunate death left his family in dire need.  Raised to be self-sufficient and responsible he assumed the responsibilities of being the provider in the house stepping into his father’s shoes in his early twenties.  He possessed the face of a teenager, and that’s where his co-workers made their mistake of underestimating him.  Most times, they were made an example of by a serious tongue-lashing that was equivalent to Red fox or Richard Pryor harassing their audiences.

 "I See you white boys cutting your eyes at me...don't be hating because you fucked up on TV."

"Ron...shut- the-hell- up," said a soft voice by the window attempting to suppress a laugh, “don’t nobody wanna here your bull shit early in the morning."

"Yeah man...it's too early for your shit," another sleepy voice responded.

"Aw you just mad because you can't live at the gym...ya Shaka Zulu looking-" 

The door swung open with the Richards returning to the podium.  The frown on his face automatically announced bad news.  "Aw man...here we go," mumbled Wade Jackson, "guess I ain't getting to the gym today either...damn."

 Richards stood there momentarily thinking to himself how to be the bearer of bad news, but he knew there was no way around it, "ok it's been brought to my attention that extra coverage is needed on the South end...as per captain's orders we are to cover that area until further notice"

"With what?  We're already stretched like a rubber band," Jackson said letting out a sigh.

"We're just gonna have to make do...like the chief says do more with less."

"Yeah but he ain't out here making do is he?"

"Look Jackson don't piss on my already bad day...you wanna stay in this piss hole...huh...bad plumbing, bad electrical.  Fucking crack heads running around messing around with your vehicles.  I don't know about you, but I'm tired of having to crack skulls on the way off duty.  Look it's a huge construction sight with a lot of building materials laying around."

"They need to secure their shit then," said a salty female voice from the rear of the room.

"Don't start with me Max," he said glaring at the 19-year vet.

"Look I know it's a lot but the higher ups thought with so much controversy around the site It'd be a good idea to have some extra man power around it, not to mention we'd be more familiar in that location when we do relocate."  The tension in the room seemed to lighten at the mention of relocating.

 "New guys...my office...the rest of you know the drill.  Be safe stay safe, and make it home safe."  Clearly offended by the black sergeant’s commanding and take-charge attitude the newly transferred cops felt a well of collective hate against the seasoned sergeant rising up threatening to spill over.  Their eyes could not help but to express their contempt in taking orders from him.  As the others were leaving out for their daily patrol assignments Sierra Sheldon happen to glance back; feeling eyes on her back she noticed the cold and steely stare coming from the newly reassigned transferred Jim Wagner.  She held his stare until he looked away.  "What the hell is his problem," she said feeling an uncomfortable familiarity about him.  There was something she disliked about him that went back further then the fiasco the day before.  “Creep."

"Com'on woman...wha'cha dragging for...its coffee time," Jackson said tugging at her shirtsleeve.

"Alright...alright...I'm coming," she said to her partner of the last 18 months.  Outside the sun had begun to rise up over the horizon.  The cruisers began surging their way to life as officers with clipboards seated themselves in vehicles with mileages that could write a book telling stories the average person could not begin to imagine.  Sierra and Jackson have witnessed more unusual and bizarre incidents in their short careers then the average person would see in a lifetime.

Jackson sat behind the wheel; his young face etched in the concentration of the thoughts that saturated his mind.  "Yo ...what's up with the day dreaming," Sierra asked as she started the daily patrol log, starting with the vehicle’s mileage, "hey I thought you were in a rush for your caffeine fix?"

"Ya know something...there's something about them white boys...can’t put my finger on it, but for some reason I don't trust'em, and I don't lik’em...don’t ask me why I just don't."

"Duuuuh maybe because they don't like people like us...ya think?"

"No...  Besides that.  It's something that just ain't right.  They just got here and already I can't stand'em...ya know...just forget it I'm probably just tripping."

"Well can we trip over to the dinner and get some coffee before the bullshit starts?  I'll put us in service in ten minutes...so com'on already."

***

Samuel Richards sat behind a cluttered desk full of memos, directives, incident reports ,patrol logs, overtime sheets, and a ringing phone; agitated and annoyed he answered, "7th....Richards," he said exasperated, "ok let me check I'm gonna put you on hold," he said stabbing at the red button and slamming down the receiver.  "God damn it give me a break," he said  hanging up from the phone eyeing the three patrolmen including the sergeant; again a strange and unpleasant feeling emerged as the four gazed back at him waiting for him to brief them so they could belittle him in the privacy of closed doors.

"Four re-assignments why do I get all the...never mind," he thought to himself looking over the files on his desk.  "Edwards...when did you make rank?"

"About a mouth now."

"An you’re down here in the shit already...who'd ya manage to piss off?"  The man's face turned beet red as the senior sergeant eyed him sensing the man's resentment.

"You're gonna be holding things down as the relief supervisor when I'm not here so I suggest you get familiar with the system here.  We got a way of doing things here in the 7th, so you can throw all that other crap out the window.”  Edwards felt like an open book swallowing hard before speaking, "there was a misunderstanding that's all."

"That's not what I'm reading here...if you're trying to make a name for yourself here to take back to your good ol boys club I strongly suggest you don't...AM I clear?"

"Crystal."

"Fine the other side of the squad room through the double doors to the right set up shop....desk, locker, phone...all waiting for ya.  I'll be there in a minute to get you computer access.” 

Still steaming Edwards turned without responding as animosity and resentment coiled around him like a snake; having to answer to a black man only stoked the already burning anger.  "What was the department coming to," he thought to himself as he turned the doorknob to the small office that seemed barely large enough for a desk let along two.  Richards failed to mention he would be sharing the space with Sergeant E. Michaels.  Briefcase in hand he stared at the other desk in its neatly maintained area free of dust, file bens neatly stacked with other office supplies housed by a more modern desk compared to his.  Edwards looked over to the area that was to be his space.  The almost antique wooden desk covered in dust, old paint cans, brushes, and dirty rags made his blood boil keeping his face a constant shade of deep red.

“Oh I see you found your desk and everything ok I’ll get the janitor to get it cleaned up for ya," the corporal said holding back a snicker, "oh…the captain wants you to come and sign for your training date," the corporal’s heavily Latino accented voice said.  Shaking with anger he never turned around to face the corporal, and continued to speak with his back turned, "what training?"

"Oh they didn't tell you... anger management and diversity training," he said closing the door.  To add insult to injury not only was it embarrassing to him having his good ol boys see him tossed down to what he considered the slums; now he had to be told how to properly interact with those he considered beneath him.  "Damn it," could the day get any worse he thought to himself.

Back in Richards's office, the remaining three grew anxious; not knowing their fate; being re-assigned to a predominately-mixed community.

 "You three hold tight for a minute," Richards said getting up from his desk looking out the window into the parking lot," SONUVABITCH," he growled jetting out of the office leaving the three bewildered, moments later loud shouting could be heard from the window.  The three went to the open window to see what the commotion was.

"Get the hell outta this god damned lot before I crack your crack head ass skull,” he shouted to an individual dressed in winter clothing in the middle of summer.  The layers of dirt made it hard to distinguish the man's racial identity

"Ooooh if it isn't one of my missing slaves."

"Get your crazy ass up outta here," Richards bellowed loud enough for it to be heard by anyone in the area.  "Oh shit is this what we got to look forward to; working down here in the 7^th," Halaski asked looking at the others in disgust.

"What the hell is that?”  Barnes was horrified at the man's appearance.

"The hell if I know...I can't tell...it's a dirty bastard...I know that much."

"It's a crazy ass ...an I betcha there's a whole lot more of'em out there," Halaski said smirking

"Damn spades out there and in here...I'll be damned...if my great great grand daddy was alive this shit would kill'em for sure."

"Yeah well he's probably turning in his grave like the rest of our dead kin.  Damned hood coons in charge of shit...I'll be damned if I didn't have to...

"Ok everybody back to business," the sergeant said entering back into the office rubbing his knuckles. 

"What was that about," Wagner asked.

"Listen up...out here...watch your vehicles when ya work mid nights...that white boy out there has been known to try vandalize our cars...locked'em up a dozen times... stunk up the place to high heavens...couldn't get the smell out for weeks.  So now when we see'em around our cars we just tune'em up an he's on his merry way; real nut job...thinks he's in the 18th century...in colonial times... back on some plantation. I got his god damned slave alright," Richards growled.

"He's a white man," the three said in unison shocked and appalled. 

I hope you have enjoyed Another reality written for your 3rd eye where fact sounds like fiction and fiction sounds like fact

This was an excerpt from the 5 book series "To Resurrect and Avenge" 

now available at amazon.com   http://astore.amazon.com/wwwicosochch-20

THE HOLY (BLACK) ROMAN EMPIRE(193 AD -1453)

Additional information is crucial for expansion.  There exist an entire historic universe of knowledge that is not taught in most education systems. Most times this type of info is concealed in the restricted areas of museums in other countries. But some way or another this invaluable info is discovered and brought to light.  It is an obligation for those finders to share  and pass such pearls on to inspiring minds. Knowledge is power, and power is having the best perception of one's self as we walk our paths of discovery.The historic African origins in European history are freeing themselves from concealment and making their way to those who are in a place ready to receive such wealth.  As a writer and author with the ability to be open minded can you imagine the endless possibilities for your creativity to birth new ideas into existence?

Spirit of Revenge

Beneath a moonless sky stood a shanty tin roofed shack, rigidly boards marked seasons of spring, summer, fall, and winter.  Grass refused to occupy the soil only mud and animal manure.  A steamy August night in Louisiana seemed to magnify a climate of irritability.  The air was thick without movement.  Screams and voices could be heard coming from a dilapidated structure, “hold’em, me can’t mend’em if he keeps movin all over the place,” momma Tutu said in exasperation, as the women tried to pin the muscular shoulder against what was supposed to be a bed.  Blood soaked rags that once served as a shirt lay on the floor in a corner.  The lantern’s illumination held by Mae revealed angry open slashes across Rufus’s wide back; slick with sweat and blood.  The sight made her nauseous.   Turning her head from the open wounds she looked out the window into the gloom of night thinking to herself, “when’s it gonna be over, is this the life I have to look forward to; beatings for just talking bout freedom,” her thoughts quickly returned to Rufus’s loud groans of pain assaulting her ears.  The old root woman’s hands were as gentle as she could make them cleaning the dirt from the deep slashes down to where pink flesh peeked through.
“How many times me tell ya not to be saying things bout Lincoln’s plans round’em whip carrying crackers,” she said through gritted teeth as she seethed with anger.

“I hate’em...I hate’em all...beat me for having hope to live better,” he said between gasps and moans.  The salty tears that streaked his face became the conduit of hate; hate colored by rage that resided somewhere deep within him threatening to become air and spread among the others locked into an existence of servitude.

Methodically momma Tutu grounded the herbs between her teeth; thinking deeply about the young man’s words, feeling his deep-rooted anger.  She then spit the ground herbs into an old chipped cup then adding another ingredient mixing the two.  “Hold still Rufus this is gonna sting a little bit, but it’ll keep ya clean...so don’t no fever get in ya.”

“Momma Tutu...ya think we is gonna be free by that there thing they is talking bout from President Lincoln?”

 “Hush now...stupid gal.  Ain’t no paper gonna set you free and take away these white folks free labor,” Mae said in a resentful soft voice; as if afraid her words would escape outside.

 “Wasn’t talking to you… now was I,” the other woman shot back in defiance.

“Shut your holes you two,” barked a harsh voice coming from the doorway.  As they all looked up, towering in the door was Ed square jawed and big boned frame smelling of whiskey and cheap cigars.  Silence dominated the small shack.  “Ain’t gonna be no emancipation for you all, so...ya better shut your black holes for ya git some of what Rufus got… whipped that hide right good,” he laughed as Rufus trembled with rage.  The two women could feel the brewing anger as they kept him pended down.  Momma Tutu continued placing the herbs into the wounds ignoring the slave hand mocking them.      

“What’s that ya got there some more of that coon medicine, better brew up some more you all gonna be need’n it if ya keep thinking bout some emancipation gonna be setting loose free labor round these parts, ain’t never gonna happen.”
The intensity in the room began to thicken as the silence became deafening.  Momma Tutu’s breathing became deep and regimented as her body temperature began to rise in the already stiffening hot shack. 

“You really want to leave this room Mista...ain’t no cause to beat down the already beaten.” 

Ed froze at the woman’s words not sure how to respond.  Looking at her through the illumination of the oil lamp, she took on an un-natural look to him.  The black slick complexion and piercing eyes made him uncomfortable.  The others seemed to hold their breath waiting for the repercussion.  Ed pointed a finger at her half-laughing, “Ya know something...old niggra woman you lucky,” he said as he turned and left out of the shack.  Everybody let out a sigh of relief.

 “Why didn’t you just kill’em,” Rufus said in a harsh whisper, “I know you knowed something from where you came from...you is a fresh water African, ain’t no more like you.  You shoulda killed that cracker.” 

 “Jus hush, jus hush for you get us all whipped up good or even lynched, and throwed to the gators for talking like that,” Mae said.  Rufus seethed with anger as the spirit of revenge slowly rolled over him “I’m tired...I’m jus so tired,” he said turning his head to face the old healer.

 “I know you know how to make a man’s heart jus crush all up in his chest...I heard you done it before.”  Then suddenly as swift as sidewinder Momma Tutu’s hands grabbed the young man’s face startling Getty and Mae; never have they seen her move so fast.  Through clenched teeth, “don’t you ever talk bout things you know nothin bout boy... hear me, or I’ll snap ya like a twig.  None of ya...hear me.”

“Yes Ma’am,” they all responded in unison at once with an added touch of fear.  The old woman resumed dressing the remaining wounds becoming lost in her thoughts reflecting back to almost thirty years ago on another hot August night.  As the pages of time flipped pass the scene changed.

Down by the river trying to cool herself off one of the ranch hands staggered up, “wha’cha doing out here all by ya self girly...lookin for some company,” the man said leering at her as she attempted to back away.  You ain’t gone nowhere; not till ol Hank here gets some of that black stuff between them there legs...you is the only black tail I ain’t had yet,” he said with lust dripping from his mouth; his words slurred from the alcohol.  His staggered gait forced his prey back against the tree.  In fear, she trembled as the drunkard came closer.  She could smell the body odor mixed with sweat and the strong smell of whiskey.  Rotten teeth grinned at her,” please mister I ain’t trying to cause no trouble,” she pleaded as she watched him unbuckling his belt.

 “You damned right girly...just you be still an keep yer yap shut,” he said grabbing her pulling her to his stench filled mouth.   Twisting and turning her face away from him, he became rougher.
“Hold still damned ya.”  She struggled even more.  Tears rolling in streams down her cheeks, and then suddenly a large hand made contact with her face.  The open hand that struck her face seemed to echo through the night.  The sudden pain paralyzed her momentarily, and then another emotion quickly replaced her fear like a raging fire surging up through her sending her into an altered state of consciousness. She stopped struggling and became stern and ridged unmoving as the drunkard slave master’s field hand tried to wrestle her to the ground.  He found that he no longer possessed any power over her.  He froze for a minute, “what the hell is this,” he said steadying himself as she glared at him with eyes he’d never seen before,  suddenly he felt a strange and unusual sensation running through him as she just stared at him with the hatred of a hundred years coursing through her with her breathing becoming deeper.  Her mouth turned and twisted uttering words foreign and harsh.  The strange sensation turned to a throbbing and gripping pain that crept up through his legs; they trembled and shook, “what in god’s name is-“ Then his words were silenced as he dropped to the ground; mouth open with no words or sounds exiting it.  Bulging eyes spoke his pain as he grabbed for his privates.  “Please he managed to get out between the groans of pain.  It felt as though a fire had seared his entire genital area.  She just stood there unblinking unmoved by his pleads for help.  His words echoed of how he had taken what he wanted from the slave women; cruel and brutal dehumanizing them with no consequences for his actions. She thought of the heartless acts of cruelty against the women she loved.  She remembered the emptiness in their eyes.  “Heartless does as heartless is and you should be without one,” she thought over, and over in her mind watching the man now grabbing his chest convulsing in the dirt.  “Nobody can hear you now,” said a voice coming from her that did not belong to her, a spirit that had taken up residence in her.  She laughed a low guttural laugh at the dying man, then suddenly her own consciousness returned to her causing her to almost lose her balance; disoriented  and confused she looked down at the slump heap that death had claimed making him cold and rigid.  The man was still gripping his chest as fear gripped her again, only this time urging her to run as fast as she could.  When she finally came close to the old rundown shack, she was drenched in sweat and tears trailed beneath her chin.  The oldest of the young men standing outside seen her running.  Despite the darkness, his eyes were sharp as a hawk.  “What in hell is going on,” he said looking to see if she were being chased, but saw no one pursuing the girl.  An older woman came out, “Reese what is it?”

“Don’t rightfully know yet...looks like little momma.  As she came closer he could see the terror in her face and he began to run to meet her.  “What’s gotten into you?”
 Panting and crying her words were unintelligible.  By then the slaves had gathered around the frantic woman.  Babbling and making no sense one of the older women took her face between her hands calming her down where she could catch her breath. “What’s wrong child?”

 “I didn’t mean it...it just happened...he kept trying...he was trying,” then the tears started all over again as the young woman trembled.  “It was that Hank at it again...damned cracker,” Reese snapped spitting in disdain.

 “Where was ya at this time of night?  You can’t keep going down to the river...it ain’t safe wit them drunken slave hands around....girl I thought I done taught you better gal,” the older woman said in a vain attempt to calm her down,  “did he hurt ya any?”

 “No...I think he’s ...he’s dead,” she sobbed.  Silence fell heavily for a moment as questioning eyes looked at one another.  The terror that once belonged to little momma now belonged to everyone.  “Ooooh my lord child...they gonna kill us all dead.”

“It’s lynching time....”

 “Hush you all,” said a tall slender woman of her fifties.

“Reese you round up the men and go on down to the river see what’s going on,” she said in a hushed whisper as tension filled the hot humid night air sending streams of sweat to drench their cloths.

 No one spoke as their fear ate at them gnawing at their stomachs.  What would they find at the river?  What would the next day reveal?  Would it be the end of a rope or would it be something much more sinister and cruel?

Reaching the river the sight rushed into view; slumped over the ground.  The ashen grey remains stared off into the night; hand still clutching his chest with his belt buckle unfastened.  Just at his feet lay the empty whiskey bottle.  Everyone was speechless trying to ponder the events that led up to the man’s demise since the woman could give no clear details only hysterical sobbing.

 “Oh my sweet Jesus...”

“Hush up June boy...ain’t nothin sweet bout this here mess.”  The men moved closer to the corpse to get a closer look.  “What we spoosen to do bout dis...Huh?”

“Looks like his heart done gave out,” Reese said rubbing the stubble on his chin.

  “I say that ol cracker done got what he deserves look at him ...look at his pants all undone.  He was fixing to have his way with another one of our women...jus last month he gotta hold of Bessie… girl ain’t been right since...jus ruin’t.... I say good for the Sonuvabitch.”

“Shut your pie hole fool before somebody hears us.”

 “Ain’t nobody out here but us.”

“Both of ya shut it...now.  I can’t hear myself think,” Reese snapped.

 “If we weight him down good...”

“NO...we gotta make it look like an accident...like he was swimming to cool himself off and got caught by the current and drowned.  Just take his clothes off hang’em up on that branch.  June boy you keep an eye out...Billy help me get his clothes off.  Jiff you get a branch and dust away all these foot prints and everything, hear me boy everything and don’t leave nothing.”

 “Good lord he stinks...ol dirty bastard.”

“Stop ya yakking and just get’em undressed we gotta make it look like he drowned before anybody comes looking for’em.”

“Alright Reese,” the younger man grumbled resenting the authoritative control.  Within minutes, they had the body undressed and the cloths hung over the tree’s branch.  The silence of the night was almost as un-nerving as the incidents itself; as all manner of nocturnal creatures became silent, witnessing events unfold.

“That ol cracker done messed wit da wrong one.  They always said there was something different about little momma.   Gal got some kinda power we all ain’t never seen the likes of before...now it done come out...that ol cracker won’t be grabbing no more colored women,” Jiff said wiping the sweat from his brow.

I hope you have enjoyed Another reality a place for the 3rd eye to indulge
This was an excerpt from the Cultural-Sy series "To Resurrect and Avenge" Book 1 you can visit www.wix.com/soyinkaiyabo/chasochronicals  or  to watch the book trailer

http://astore.amazon.com/wwwicosochch-20

available at amazon.com

The Metal Threat

Down town pandemonium erupted as metal crashing against metal sent screams into the air as bodies scattered fleeing from the 50-ton bulldozer that had seemed to have developed a mind of its own as it rammed unsuspecting vehicles and caused massive damage to parked cars, and oncoming traffic.  An over turned minivan lay on its side pushed against a fire hydrant; the geyser of water added to the already chaotic and frenzied scene with mounting confusion.  Several vehicles disabled by the rampaging construction vehicle made it difficult for emergency responders to get into the area; therefore the metal menace continued on its destructive reign crashing into anything that lie in its path.  Plate glass windows shattered as flying debris stabbed through the glass injuring the customers of stores, shops, and grocers.  Personal belongings littered the sidewalks and street.  Twisted metal signs laid across parked cars pushed up against one another while the driver of the bulldozer shifted to reverse backing over dozens of bicycles.  Terrified screaming pedestrians scrabbled to get out of the way.  Suddenly the bulldozer shifted forward pushing over a traffic light.  Sparks flickered as it leaned in an awkward angle before crashing down to the street sending puffs of smoke into the air.  Several people remained trapped in mangled vehicles.  Anguished cries for help only egged the bulldozer on as it plowed into more vehicles.  One vehicle’s window was smeared with blood. 

Several attempts made by pedestrians to jump on to the bull Dozier to remove the operator failed; confronting  what sat behind the controls of the machine was an affront to nature.  Something that possessed a human body sat behind the controls, but its eyes gave the appearance of something unearthly, as the eyes were void of life in their sockets glaring out at the horrified.  A young man who leaped onto the metal menace in an attempt to dislodge the operator made another attempt.  Shock and disbelief had frozen him in place.  A cold stone like hand lightning fast grabbed the man's throat like a vice.  For that short period, the young man literally looked into the face of death before being flung from the bulldozer.  Again, the machine backed up from mangled metal and turned to ram an approaching police car that had managed to circumvent the mass of tangled wreckage by jumping the curb driving down the sidewalk.  "Wha'da fuck...this is unit 22 on 3rd and Bakersfield road...I got a priority.  Oh my god-” The bulldozer’s huge metal scoop crashed down on the top of the cruiser after ramming it with unnatural speed.  Glass exploded everywhere striking pedestrians and emergency responders.  Horrified on lookers watched as the vehicle looked as though it were being pushed into the ground taking the cop inside with it despite the rounds fired in a futile attempt to stop and unstoppable foe.  His screams died away under the commotion of the screaming pedestrians. In the distance, more sirens could be heard approaching the catastrophic scene as dispatchers shouted for additional units.

"Oh shit did you hear that," she said in mid stride returning to the cruiser with Jackson on her heels, and his ear almost glued to the radio's speaker.  Jumping into the cruiser Jackson flipped the switch for the blue strobe lights and sirens.  "Something real ugly is going on," she said reaching for the radio's mic to respond as the cruiser's tires screeched around the corner almost on two wheels.  "Damn don't get us smashed up before we get there."

"I got this," Jackson replied concentrating on the traffic ahead to avoid any vehicles slow to move from the cruisers right of way. An air horn accompanied the flashing lights and sirens aggressively signaling the cruiser’s immediate approach, and to make way.  "MOVE damn it...don't you hear all this shit?"

"They hear...they think their gonna get a case if we hit'em."

"Yeah they gonna get more than a case...stupid sonuvabitches gonna get dead with all this metal running up their dumb asses."

"All units approaching the vicinity of 3rd and Bakersfield Road exercise extreme caution individual armed with a bulldozer one unit down with pedestrian casualties," the radio blared a second time.  A block and a half away and the chaos could be seen.

"Oh shit," Sierra said staring at the massive pile up of cars and trucks scattered around looking as if they had been dropped from the sky surrounding the bulldozer.

"We're gonna have to foot it...this is as close as we're going to get," Jackson said glancing up at the news helicopters that had joined the grim scene.  The bulldozers engine roared as its operator gunned the accelerator.  To the far left, the smashed cruiser seemed to beckon to the cops.  "Shit...we gotta get to that car."  Seconds later, more of the 7th district cars pulled up as close as they could to the scene.  The injured were removed from the area while cops attempted to proceed to the cruiser mangled beyond recognition, but with lightning speed, the bulldozer maneuvered itself in their direction preparing to ram them; chasing them back behind the wreckage of the other cars.  Again, they tried from another angle careful not to alert its operator.  A hushed crowd waited in anticipation.   Only the roar of the bulldozer’s engine dominated the ground below while helicopters hovered overhead adding to the urgency of the scene.  Closer the men and women in blue crept; cuffs and keys held in place in an attempt in silencing the clink of metal.  Radios were turned completely down, and breaths were held.  Sierra swallowed hard not knowing what she would be greeted with once she approached the mangled wreckage.  "RUN," a voice shouted out.  The swift turn of the bulldozer’s scoop almost caught Jackson as he dove out of the way.  Hot asphalt biting into his hands and knees caused a string of curses to erupt from his mouth.  "Yo man...you ok," a firefighter asked helping him from the ground.  Soon police supervisors were on location setting up their command center.  The intersection was now gridlocked; a standoff between cops and machine filled the atmosphere with eeriness.  Despite the open view of the bulldozer, its operator’s identity remained a mystery.  The only person that saw him was unconscious.

 "What the hell is this," barked lieutenant George Morison while cops and firefighters were desperately trying to devise a plan of rescue. Not knowing the cop's condition made everyone anxious.  "Has anyone heard a radio contact from him?  What is his status...is he dead, alive...what, and what the hell is in the driver's seat...and why can't we get the SONUVABITCH outta there?  What the hell are all of you standing around for," the lieutenant snarled through gritted teeth looking around at the chaos," get these civilians outta here!"

"Sir...their here because ...well...they can't leave...just yet."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because these are all their vehicles and they’re witnesses," the sergeant said pointing around to the wreckage of cars becoming more and more exasperated by the second; with all the questions he had to stop and answer while his men were trying to reach the trapped cop.    “Asshole," the sergeant thought to himself walking away.  "Sergeant...get a paramedic up here...we gotta get that cop outta there; that's if he's even still alive."

"Sir...we gotta get him cut outta there first of all and second; the sonuvabitch won't even let us get close to him... let alone get a paramedic in there," he said growing angry.

"You better get somebody to go in there and get that man outta there," Morrison called after him as the sergeant continued to ignore his demands.  "Damn asshole with fucking gold bars."

"Hey Serg the only way I see to fix this problem is to get a clean shot in...maybe we can nick'em...slow'em down," Jackson said with Sierra nodding in agreement.  "It's gonna take to long to get sharp shooters down here; swat's on the other side of the city on a job at a drug house."

"Why can't we do it," a southern drawn voice said coming from behind them, "I can hit that ass from fifty yards," she said turning all the attention to herself.  Standing there 5 ft 10, 170 lbs, and solid mass the 19-year veteran from Sheldon South Carolina unsnapped her holster.  "Now just wait a minute Max the department is still on the hot seat from the last shooting," the lieutenant said, and then all of a sudden the bulldozer that had been sitting motionless roared to life turning in their direction.  "Oh shit."

 A floored accelerator marked the four of them to be the next target.  Scrambling for their lives with hats, nightsticks and handcuffs flying in numerous directions they barely escaped the deadly menace.  "That's it I'm gonna pop that wild cat," she said drawing her 9 mm from her holster from behind an over turned truck where they had taken cover.  Three consecutive shots rang out stunning everyone the operator of the bulldozer fell limp slumping over the controls. 

"You got'em...damn woman...you da shit," Jackson said in awe.

"Good shoot Max.  OK...let’s go check out what we got here," the sergeant said, but no sooner than he could turn around criticism reared its ugly head, "cease fire god damn it who fired their weapon?"

"Max did sir...she took out the threat."

"That was an unarmed civilian!!!!"

"I beg your pardon sir but that unarmed civilian was armed with a fucking bulldozer trying to ram us," she said fuming, "I used the necessary force needed to stop the immediate threat SIR," she bellowed out standing toe to toe with the lieutenant; un-intimidated by the man's rank.  Jackson and Sierra stood off to the side watching in total disbelief before they joined the others in attempting to free the cop from the mangled cruiser.

"Morrison's an asshole all week," Sierra said clearing away some of the debris.

"Yeah SONUVABITCH coulda at least taking a day off from being an asshole today," Jackson responded.

"That's what you get when ya only think about your own ass...I guess.  What a dick head." 

Finally Morrison stopped arguing with the seasoned street cop; realizing he was getting nowhere.  "Officer I want a use of deadly force report before the end of your shift."

"Fine...it beats being dead," she snapped walking away.  Feeling defeated frustrated and embarrassed Morrison looked for another outlet to vent on; walking over to cops, firefighters, and medics working diligently to free the cop from the mangled cruiser, "I want this mess cleaned up ASAP."  For a minute, everyone stopped and looked at the police supervisor as if he had two heads and went back to working.  The sergeant stepped away from the cruiser wiping sweat from his face, "We can't do that sir...not right now anyway."

"And why's that sergeant?"

"Sir this is a crime scene."

Thanks for taking the time to visit Another reality.  I hope you enjoyed this excerpt from the 

Cultural-Sy novel To Resurrect & Avenge Book one. You can visit me at  

www.wix.com/soyinkaiyabo/chaoschronicals
also available at amazon

The Stolen

The missionaries became fearful.  The villagers who lived among them began to talk among themselves; they knew that they made a grave mistake in forsaking the ways of the Orisha, their ancestors’ traditions for thousands of years.  When the villagers tried to leave the missionaries tried to stop them; telling them that they would be committing a great sin against god and there would be no salvation for them in heaven and they should stay, but the villagers did not care, they left to find the Babalawos the high priest to make offerings and ask forgiveness from their ancestors, but what they did not know was that they were followed.  That night there was a ritual taking place.  Those missionaries, slavers and soldiers defiled what was sacred and they were doomed and didn’t even know it; by capturing the most powerful Babalawos and Egungun people their fate was sealed.  The slave ship that they were taken to was the Henrietta Marie, a ship that was cursed.  Many days before the raid the Babalawos and Iyalawos put a curse upon that ship so that nothing would work aboard it. They asked Shango, Oya and Yemoja to destroy it for stealing their people.  And they asked Olukun to swallow it with those responsible.  Not long after the ship had cast out to sea it all began.  The crew became sick with malaria and small pox.  It was during one of the rituals that Babaluae was invoked.  The crew became weak with fever. The shackles and chains that had been used to imprison the priest had corroded with rust from the sea air.  All day the Babalawos and others prayed to the Orisha Ogun to give them strength and finally when the time was right Ogun possessed them, and chains were pulled from the beams, and shackles were broken, now they were used as deadly weapons. In the darkness one by one they made their way up to the deck, concealing themselves in the shadows of the ship.  They quickly noted their position by the stars; it would be the stars that would guide them back home.  They remembered how they were brought aboard on the small boats. While they were searching the ship for the small boats one of the crew had gone below deck with evil intentions.  Reaching the cargo hold he saw that the chains no longer held the captives; sending him running and screaming for the crew, suddenly the crash of thunder shook the ship followed by strong and powerful winds; a violent uprising was underway.  The sickened crew was no match for the power of the Orisha possessed Africans.  It was the arrogance of the missionaries to underestimate the powerful religion of the village they invaded; thought of as ungodly heathens fit only for enslavement.  The chains that had bound them were used as weapons splitting open skulls and strangling the clergy who preached of their enslavement as gospels with sermons of servitude. Those that were left alive to weak to fight were left lying in their own vomit.  Others lost limbs and drowned in their own blood.  The captain and remaining crew were taken below deck and chained to the dead so they would know the feel of such cruelty.  Lightning struck into the ship like daggers.  When the boats were finally dropped from the ship strong currents carried the boats away from it.  It was said that you could hear the screams of the crew below deck in the holds of the slaver.  A final lightning strike sent the ship up in flames. Shango’s fire was a blaze that night while Oya’s winds fed his fire.  The fire found its way below deck partially burning the crew because Yemoja’s waves took the ship to Olokun. 

This was an excerpt from a Cultural-Sy novel titled Spirit Walk I hope you enjoyed another weekly segment of Another reality written from my 3rd eye for your 3rd eye. Please visit me at www.wix.com/soyinkaiyabo/chaoschronicals