Fiction: Group 4
But with blood pumping bitterness, filled with fire traveling through his motivated body. Infecting him.
Destroying him. His addiction, to only grow stronger.
Revenge is what he is living for.
On the side of the ship, voices of British sailors could be heard and the sound of boxes of opium being
dropped. The fire within raged more through the traveller as he made for the hung lantern that guided him
for so long through the river. Through the darkness of night. And now, he will use that tiny candle for a
flame, for a fire, the same fire that was surging through him at this moment.
And as his hand closed around the candle like a wounded bird. He turned to the large ship sitting next to his
own boat and allowed the flame to lick the wooden edges. To let it burn. To let it drown.
To let it kill.
And put the lives of those sailors to sleep.
Eternally.
The ship soon became a roaring bonfire, as the traveller watched it burn as the scorching flames reached to
the starless, naked sky. The screams of the sailors, the fear, the shock. And the mysterious traveller observed
in pleasure.
His menacing smile stretched across his cheeks. Oh, how he could burst out laughing as the sailors skin
turned rough into sand paper, into globs, the skin, the pus, the blood oozing out. The boiled blood. Their
body’s falling and the raging blaze collapsing over bodies of ash. Bodies of sailors. All of the bodies.
The ship was slowly sinking down as villagers awoke from the horrifying screams.
Screams of terror and shock echoing the air.
And the traveller did not care.
Villagers were frantic.
His work was Done.
Villagers running around.
He accepted it.
Villagers Shouting.
And he continued to sail through the river.
Villagers did not see the Traveller.
The mysterious traveller.
The freak, the monster, the ghost….the mystery”
The mysterious traveller.
Never to be seen again.
