Lafane Williams
I remember the fallen. Do they think of me?
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T’was a long fifteen years ago—yes it was. Three young men, blinded by the promise of adventure, riches, and romance had set sail to what they hoped would be a swash-buckling life of frivolity.
Three fools they were. Three fools indeed. Oh, how greatly I pity them! If I could go back to those years (and believe me, if I could, I would), I’d warn them, warn them against purchasing that dingy little ship. I’d warn them of their God’s unmerciful mood on that particular day. Given the chance to go back, I’d tackle those twits, steal their coin, destroy their dingy little ship, and warn them—yes I would—that they’d ne’er return.
Beautiful day, it was, when they set sail. The sea was calm, the sky was clear, and the air seemed to teem with promise. If I recall it clearly, which I’m sure I do, I was meant to join them on their dingy little ship that day, but by my God’s grace alone, my Beatrice was with child and I stayed ashore.
Beatrice, my sweet sweet Beatrice. Elijah, my promising boy, Elijah. How I miss them. Beatrice, my wife whom I couldn’t provide a ring, and my promising boy Elijah who died once he gained three years. My sweet wife joined our promising boy in the afterlife about twelve years ago if I recall correctly (which I’m certain I do).
My faith in my God vanished as my comrades’ dingy little ship vanished into the belly of a whale, but for the sake of my Beatrice who was a devout and good Christian woman, I feigned piety. Though the day I lost my promising boy and my sweet wife, I could no longer fake devotion to their God.
How cruel is their God! A cruel man indeed! To take the lives of three young men (three fools), a devout and good Christian woman, and a promising young boy who had only just gained three years.
I’ve lived on, but I have not moved on. How I miss those fools, how I miss my wife, how I miss my promising little Elijah!
Hence why I must join them. Wherever they are. Truthfully, the notion of life after death did not leave with my faith. Strange, I know. I’ve spent years pondering and concluded that Heaven, hell, an endless void, and rebirth, all matter not. I simply refuse to spend another waking moment on this dreary earth. I refuse to waste any more oxygen on my bereaved being.
By the time another man may find and read this, I would have already passed. My body would have already been devoured by vultures or some carnivorous sea animal. The only acceptable way for me to have left this earth would be through the sea. I’ve purchased a dingy little ship and set sail with no food, water, or purpose. I’ve let my body wither away and I can feel death draw near.
Do not pity me, dear reader. You must not pity the dead, for we do not suffer loneliness or regret, expanding compassion onto us serves no purpose. Rejoice instead, Rejoice!
For I am free.
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Lafane Williams was born during the summer months and on a Monday, in Jamaica. Even when she wasn’t particularly passionate about writing, she still wrote speeches for the dead (per her grandmother’s request). She aims to be so well-known in the literary community that people actually care about her memoirs.
Diamond Gazette 