"A Jouney of A Thousand Miles Begins with Just One Step" : Chapter 2

Lucia’s childhood was a happy one. Her father owned a shipping company, so he was away on business most of the time. Her mother and grandmother raised her in their small house on the outskirts of a large port city. They were not extravagantly wealthy, but they were certainly on the way to becoming so. Lucia had many beautiful dolls and dresses as a child. When she was six years old, she began her schooling with the children of other prominent merchants in the port. She loved to read stories with lots of adventure, like Greek myths, tales of chivalry, and stories of pirates.

All of Lucia’s tutors said she was very clever. This was true; but she was not only book smart. Her grandmother, who was very old and a bit senile, always spoke her mind in an unrestrained and sarcastic way. If she was younger, she would have been regarded as coarse, yet because of her age, most people overlooked Lucia’s grandmother’s unchecked tongue. Lucia inherited her grandmother’s sharp wit and never ceased to amaze.

Therefore, she was a lively and interesting child of ten when tragedy hit. Within a month of each other, both her father and grandmother died and were quickly followed by her mother who died of a broken heart. So, Lucia was left under the guardian ship of an estranged uncle who took over her father’s business. Her uncle was an exceedingly dull man with no business sense. However, he had great taste for liquor and gambling, and as most men with such tastes was followed by legions of debt collectors.

When in dire straits, Lucia’s uncle sold her to a woman he once knew who owned a tavern. He felt he had done the right thing. For was it no fit and proper that a girl should be under the care and tutelage of another woman? And should not his niece help him with his debt? He did provide food for her for all of three months.

"A Jouney of A Thousand Miles Begins with Just One Step" : Chapter 1

The fridge air hit Lucia as she stepped from the warmth of the house into the night. Twenty steps to the fence and she would be free. She dreamed of escaping that life for three years. Finally, the dream was coming true and Lucia could not believe it. Hopping over a low fence, Lucia broke into a run toward the beach.

Icy water stung her legs, and with a yelp she backed up onto the dry sand. Collapsing in the sand, Lucia rested her tired body and gazed up at the night sky. It was a clear night. The sky was filled with a million stars. A million diamonds twinkling on a black velvet cloth. The night sky was a constant and welcome friend that comforted her on her worst nights.

This night, in particular, she needed a friend. She had escaped from her miserable life, but what now? Lucia had no place to go and nothing to do; nor did she know what she planned to do. So Lucia lay on the beach thinking and planning until an idea came to her: she would find him. She would stay on the beach for the night, and then maybe she would try to find him. He told her he would help her if she were ever to find herself in need of aid.
Yes, she thought, that is what I’ll do. I’ll find him. With that final thought, she fell asleep and dreamt of an oasis.

The ocean woke Lucia that morning. The tide came in before the sunrise and lapped at her toes. All the better, she thought, although not before cursing the chilly nipping at her feet. She could get off that beach before people might see her. Lucia walked to the main road and headed inland; those were the instructions he gave her to find him. She was to go to the town with two steeples, find the master coachman of the stable there. She was to tell the coachman that she was “a princess from the white castle and demand to be taken to Ruleshire orchard.” Although Lucia thought the phrase was quite ridiculous, the man explained that the master coachman would understand and know what to do.

Truthfully, Lucia did not remember the man’s name; she only remembered his kindness. At first, she doubted his sincerity. Many men had promised her things, but in reality those men only want one thing. Naturally, she figured that the man she was seeking was the same as the rest. However, after spending a few minutes in his company, she realized he was a very different sort of man. He was dressed the same as the majority of the men she had seen, but he was much more attractive. Attractive is the word she used to describe him, because he was not extremely gorgeous, but definitely handsome. However, his demeanor is what really separated him from the rest of the men she knew.

His words stayed Lucia after he left. Initially, she lent the words very little consideration, although she could never seem to forget them. As time progressed and her life grew worse, she began to think more about the things he had said. A year later, she clung to the memory which was the only light in her hopeless world of darkness.

Lucia had not always been in such a wretched state, but as is oft to happen life takes some unexpected and wanted turns. That is how Lucia at the age of twelve ended up working as a maid in a tavern. For the next three years, she endured endless had work and beatings from her unyielding mistress. Her mistress was crude, shrewd, and unscrupulous. She made Lucia’s life a living nightmare. The only blessing Lucia afforded for not to be sacrificed to the lust of some of the miscreant clientele that frequented the tavern. Her mistress would have none of that, being as Lucia was such a young girl.

However, now that Lucia was growing older, Lucia could tell that her mistress’s mind was beginning to toy with the idea of extra income to that decrepit establishment. Therefore, Lucia took this as prime time to make a quick and speedy exit. So, she decided to run away from the tavern and the madam who controlled her life. The man’s promise was the reason she could walk along the lonely road with slight assurance of a better life, as the sun’s rays peaked over the trees.

She spent most of her time thinking as she walked. Sometimes she would sing or hum, but most of the time she was silent. Lucia felt as if she had been walking for hours. She did not know how far the town was from the small port where she had lived for the past three years of her life. The town could be days away for all she knew. Stopping of a second, she wondered whether she should turn around and go back.

“No,” Lucia exclaimed aloud. Anything was better than her old life, and she would walk as far as she had to for a chance to live a new life.

As dusk neared, she approached a town that indeed had two steeples. She breathed a sigh of relief; she was exhausted from her journey and wanted to find that master coachman as quickly as her fatigued legs would carry her. Once in town, she asked a watch merchant if he could point her in the direction of the stables.

“Of course,” he replied, “it’s right next to the smithy…the chimney with the black smoke.”

“Thank you,” said Lucia, for she was truly thankful, the town was fairly large.

A stable boy, who was actually a very old man, answered the door when she knocked. He was a bit curt and skeptical of her, but finally he left to get the master coachman. A big, robust man with red jowls returned and asked her how he could be of service, also eyeing her with suspicion.
“I am a princess from the white castle and demand to be taken to Ruleshire orchard,” Lucia announced just as that man had told her.

Her statement had a profound effect on the master coachman. His eyes widened and then narrowed.

“Please come in,” he replied hastily. Backing away from the door let her into the office of the stable. She entered cautiously; she never trusted men, except the man.

The room was Spartan and contained a table, a few chairs, and some papers stacked in messy piles on a tall desk. There was a fire blazing in the hearth on the left side of the room that provided both light and warmth.

“What in blazes does Rulershire want with you?” inquired the coachman with slight impatience.

“And how did you become involved with his high and lofty self?”

Lucia began to feel uncomfortable; maybe this Rulershire and the coachman were no longer friends. It had been over since Rulershire gave her the instructions.

“I met him a year ago,” she replied carefully, “he said if I needed help, to contact you. He told me that you could take me to him.”

“Hmm…true enough,” the coachman mused, his angry, reddish complexion began to fade. “But where did you meet him?”

“At my shop.”

“Really?”

“Yes, sir.” Lucia added the “sir” because she knew it would sweeten his demeanor.

“What trouble did you get into, eeh? Kill anyone? Someone wants to kill you? Say you aren’t pregnant are you?”

“N-no!” responded a rather taken aback Lucia. His inquisitiveness had startled her. She had not killed anyone. To her knowledge, she had no enemies with strong enough hate to want her dead. And by the Good Creator, did she look pregnant! She always thought she was a bit too thin.

“I am certainly none of those! Not that it’s any of your business to know what my business is, she added, vexed by his rude accusations.

“It is my business since I’m his…oh never mind,” answered the coachman with a sigh of resignation. “I’ll take you to him tomorrow. He’ll know what to do with you, and he obviously told you to contact him for some reason. Why else would someone go running around that absurd message?”

“I was hoping we could leave right away?” implored Lucia.

“No, in the morning. It’s too late now. You can stay in the hay loft for the night.”

“Hay loft?”

“Yeah, I have no extra rooms. Go out those doors and climb the ladder and I’ll see you in the morning,” and then he added with a smile, “Get some rest as well. You look tired.”

“Thank you,” Lucia said as she took leave of the room. She did not stay and argue. It was very late and she was tired. After climbing the ladder, she settled in the soft hay. As she slept, she dreamt of an enormous black horse.

Ship

Yet another unfinished story...

The air was brisk and breezy as the large ship sliced through the water. The trade winds blew strongly, filling the great white sails, moving the ship quickly. The deck was in pristine condition; the captain would allow no less. A symphony of sounds could be heard: the sound of the sea, the bellowing of the sails, and the goings on of the crew as they managed the lines and cleaned the deck.

The destination of their plight was unknown to me. I was not part of that crew. In fact, I didn’t even belong on the rig, but somehow I had boarded it. I don’t remember how. All I remember is waking up to the brisk, fresh air and smell of the open sea. I lay in a pile of ropes in a corner of the ship. Numerous sailors passed the spot where I lay without a glance, perhaps because it was hidden in the shadow of the captain’s quarters. I didn’t yell or cry out in surprise of my current situation. I just lay there in the shadows. It seemed so surreal, almost dreamlike. For all I knew at that point it was a dream, a very bizarre dream.

So there I lay, watching the crew toiling along with their everyday jobs. It was all so peaceful, until out of nowhere this old, disfigured face loomed over me. It took me quite by surprise; I had never seen a man like him so close up before. His skin was like tan leather and was missing a few teeth; the ones he had left were rotten and yellowed.

“What ‘ave we ‘ere?” He said, smiling a sneering smile with his missing, rotten teeth.

I was about to scream, when he grabbed me by the arm with a hard, callused hard. He was incredibly strong for a man of his age. The old sailor proceeded to drag me out to the middle of the deck. I struggle as best as I could, but his grip was like iron.

Once in the direct sunlight, all commotion on the ship ceased. The focus of everyone’s attention was on me. Their gazes burned a hole right through me and at once I wished I could be anywhere but there. Voices began to buzz with conversations.

One or them shouted out, “Eh Bill, what’s an ol’ tar like you doin’ with a bloomin’ flower like that?”

“I found ‘er in the ropes. I think she's a stole away.”

This is not good I told myself. I was in the hands of a seemingly cranky old man, on a ship filled with a bunch of sailors.

“Give her to me old man,” said one with particularly greasy hair.

“Stand back, Porter,” yelled the old man, who I guessed must be Bill, “I’m takin’ ‘er to the cap’in.”

At the time, I took this as a brief relief; at least old Bill didn’t give me to greasy Porter. After the newly gathered crowd made a path for old Bill, he continued to drag me around the deck, until he reached a burgundy door that lead to the cabin. In transport, I happened to look up and saw a banner that I had not noticed before. It was all black except for the white skull and crossbones in the center. Although I had never seen the flag in my life, I knew exactly what it was and what it represented.

The Jolly Roger had graced the tales of my childhood. Tales of swarthy pirates and their adventurous, yet horrific, deeds broke through the dams of my mind, flooding it with memories.

We stopped in front of the door. Bill motioned for two of the men to come forward and restrain me, one on each side, their smiles broad and chuckling deviously. After straightening his dirty, old shirt, he proceeded to walk up to the door. Curling his big, gnarled hand into a fist, he gently knocked on the door. I was surprised just how gently the knock was. I expected him to pound on the door; instead he gave it three brisk taps.

The crowd of men had become suddenly silent, yet I still could not hear the response from inside the door. But there must have been one, because Bill in the politest voice answered,

“Beggin’ yer pardon capt’n, but we be needin’ yer…assistance on the deck. I think we ‘ave a stole away.”

After a few moments, that seemed like an eternity, the door opened, letting a bit of spiced air permeate on deck. The person who stepped out was not like the dread pirate captains I had heard about in stories. He was short, shorter than I am, and he was young, very young. His face was smooth and feminine, his lips hard and thin. His eyes, which where a deep brown almost black, were bright with cunning. His one eyebrow was piqued in a perfect arch of amusement. However, his amusement was short lived once he laid eyes on me. Briefly, as wave of annoyance washed over his exotic features, but only briefly, if you blinked you would have missed it. The annoyance was replaced by an icy, nonchalant glare.

“So this is the stole away,” he said unimpressed. He had an odd voice, high yet it purred with a lower undertone.

“Aye, capt’n.”

“So what do we do with a stole away?”

“We throw them over but…”

“Then I see no need to further this conversation. Go throw her over.” He said this almost scoldingly, like a mother. It then dawned on me: the captain wasn’t a man, she was a woman.

Poor Bill protested, “But capt’n she’s a lass.”

“I realize that, Bill. Do ya think I’m blind?”

That annoyance was coming back quickly. It was obvious she took no pity on me, and it became obvious that I was about to be thrown off a pirate ship into the middle of the ocean. Realizing the gravity of my position for the first time, I began to panic.

“Wait, don’t do it,” I begged.

I know it was a pretty bad come back, but as I said, I was in a panic and wasn’t at my sharpest. She snorted and raised that eyebrow again, as she smiled. It was a rather seductive smile, her white teeth flashed in the sunlight. Many men would have become entranced in it. As a matter of fact that is exactly what it did to the crew. They looked at her with devotion, reverence, loyalty, and love. I could not fathom how a woman could conquer the respect of a group of gangly pirates.

“Why,” she asked, “you are a stole away and of no apparent used to me. In fact, I find you as more of a hindrance really.”

She gave a curt sigh before she continued. “Quite frankly, you’re just another mouth to feed,” then she added as if it was common knowledge, “and you’ll be a disturbance to my crew.” She glanced at some of the men as she said this. Some looked down, while other laughed a bit.

She lifted her hand for hand for silence and once more flashed one of those fantastic smiles.

“What say you?” Her eyes boar down upon me, her was tone overly inquisitive.

What could I say? I couldn’t tell her to hold me for ransom, my family was poor; yet maybe he would…

“I-I…I could be your servant!”

“My servant? What do I need a servant for? But…” She rubbed her bottom lip as she considered my offer. I saw a crack in the wall, so I decided to pick at it.

“You know to do your dirty work, clean the cabin, cook your food.”

“I already have someone who does all of that; however, the food could be better, and I suppose you could cook…but how do I know you won’t poison it?” She accused.

“I’d never…” She raised a hand for silence.

“Before you start saying anything to sway my mind I’ll tell you my decision.”

She clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace. “I am a lady of leisure,” she began, “and as a lady of leisure, I am also a gentlewoman. And gentlewomen need maidservants.” Yes I thought. “therefore, you will be indentured to me for a year, under penalty of death. If you will please follow me, I shall write up our agreement.”

With a graceful gesture, she motioned my captors to being me forward. They released me right before the door and sort of pushed me in, before shutting the door behind me.

The room was cool and lit only by the daylight that flittered in through the solitary window on the left wall. There was not too many furnishing, but what there was were lavish and ornate. Covering the wooden floor was a Persian rug with an elaborate design. A trunk encrusted with gold, sapphires, and pearls lay next to the back wall.

A Reflection on Greatness--- 2006

"My life thus far has led to very little consequence. So far, i have found no great love, made no great innovation, nor changed the world in one way or the other. Yet, all life is interconnected. Therefore, in theory, all the little actions I have done have made a small difference. I do not know what they are, but in theory, they were done.

Another conclusion, that might have some validity is that all things have the potential for greatness. It is the choices we make and the actions we performs which may or may not lead to this certain destiny. All things can evolve to greatness, but no all do. In reality, less than a quarter probably do, or do they? Who decides what greatness is? Is it fame? Wealth? Power? Love? Greatness, I suppose, is like beauty in that --- though I hate to be cliche, I nevertheless must say it --- is in the eye of the beholder. Each person you ask will have a different opinion on who or what is great. Of course, there are some things that are generally accepted as universally great, and these are the exception to the rule.

Is greatness judged only by the good in a thing or can evil things also be great? Not necessarily "evil," I suppose that antagonistic would be a better word. Some villains have done extraordinary, yet evil, deeds and have won much infamy for it. Does that make them great?