Wednesday, January 14, 2009



I'm in the hold of some exotic boat. Most of my belongings have been stuffed into what looks like a small closet, which my man-servant refers to as "the head". I see no way out. Every moment, I expect the boat to leave the dock, en route to a slavers' island, where I will be traded for a barrel of gunpowder or somesuch.

The end is near -- I can feel it.

Saturday, January 10, 2009



I'm to be moved again -- I just know it. Household items are vanishing hourly, and what's left is all out of place.

This can't be good.