The Lost Letter of King George III

Being influenced by A.P. U.S. History, I decided to write a letter describing a crucial moment in American History through the eyes of King George III of England. I tried to sound a bit more old-fashioned than I usually am; and a bit more humorish. Hope you guys like it! :

*Historians have found private letters written by King George III during the American Revolution:

December 16^th, 1773

        Oh, those horrid Americans! What poor subjects they make for a fine King such as me. After all that I and my forefathers have done to protect them in their new world; after all that I’ve done to increase their prosperity; after all that I’ve done to better advance them towards English civilization and culture- this is how they repay me?!  By dumping all of England’s precious tea into the Boston Harbour??!!! Tea is meant to be drunk; not meant to be thrown over like used toilet paper!  I can’t fathom their nerve! All that I’ve done is impose a few taxes that ALL British subjects, both in England and abroad, have to pay; and it’s not like it’s anything new… most of the taxes that I now enforce are centuries old! And even back then they resisted to follow with standard British trade regulations and customs. And these wretched fiends should be thankful that the East India Trading Company decided to lower the price of tea.  But now, things are getting worse. They’re now tarring-and-feathering my poor tax-collectors! God’s wounds, that’s a punishment to be endured…. to have hot tar bathe your skin and have feathers stick to your skin like pricky needles. Also, they’re starting to send in petty petitions to me requesting that I repeal the taxes; hah! I would’ve half considered them had they known how to write properly like proper Englishmen! For their blatant display of insolence and rebellion, the Boston Port is to be hitherfore closed until further notice, and Boston is now to be garrisoned by British troops, and under the command of General Gage. That should quell their rebellious spirit for some time. And If I weren’t such a good King, I’d say that they’ll soon declare Independence and cut off all ties from Britian.. hah… but they won’t do that…will they?

July 4^th, 1776: 

 Holy Mother and Child! Those American twits finally did what I feared the most; declaring independence! My courtiers ran in with a piece of parchment written in fine-ink named “The Declaration of Independence”; signed by all the moronic heads of their so called “Continental Congress”. But I say, what neat penmanship! The words used in this document implies that there are at least some learned men among those uncultured heathens. But are they stark-raving mad?! Do they really believe that they have the slightest chance of surviving on their own? Without Britian’s aid and my rule to guide them? Bah!.. and to think that they’re requesting the aid of France in their struggle. Oh, the French; those pompous, makeup-wearing, mustache twirling, snail eaters! To think that I’m at war with them, and now have to deal with petty rebels at the same time. For this vile act of betrayal, I’m sending all domestic forces to the New World immediately to crush this petty resistance; that’ll make them rue the day they chose to stand up against Britain. And as for the French, I shall see to it that are defeated once more; and- - ooh, time for tea and crumpets!

* Letter ends here. No further entries are listed; historians can only assume for certian that King George had a wonderful time sipping tea and eating crumpets.

Blackbeard's Journal

The long lost journal of Blackbeard the Pirate washed up on shore on a deserted island, where a stranded sailor just happened to find it. Instead of trying to find a way to signal a passing ship or find food and water to survive, he instead got deep into reading the journal. Poor sap. Well, let's read it then:


June 2^nd, 1717

 

Arrgh! What spicy rum, be that! Castilian-distilled, if I be right. The murky air inside the hull be damp enough (and pungent) to knock a man right of his senses!  Ho, sirrah, that rum’s gotta’ kick! ...  In my second year, I am, as a pirate on the high seas. Pirate captin’, tha’ is. Aye, what a fright I give to all seafarers when they merely mention ma’ name: Blackbeard the Pirate! Ha! Those half-wit loons... if only they knew my real name: Edward Teach. Gah! The very mention of it twirls ma’ entrails. Seems ma’ mother wanted a college professor, not a pirate! Aye… but that isn’t enough to smear my reputation on the high seas; my reputation for pillagin’, lootin’, and raidin’ any town, city, or ship that dare stand up against ma’ flag!  And his Majestey King George III o’ England ( oh, that gluttonous loon for a monarch), truly thinks that I can be caught! Ha! The follies that fools fancy these days… truly makes me wonder who commits greater piracy: us seadogs or those wig-headed sloths for politicians back in Britain?   Makes me also think about… ooh the rum’s kick be on again!

September 5^th 1717

 

Another good day of adventurin’ and pillagin’ for me. By Mary, this week I looted four galleons and 6 brigandines! We had em’ cornered at an alcove near the shore… somewhere near North Carolina, methinks. They be practically fleein’ from us when they saw me flag; ha! Shudda’ heard their cries when they saw it. The loot were practically whelping for my warm, greedy touch, they were! Oh the look of those cowerin’ navy officers and sailors! That’d teach em’ to not mess with Blackbeard’s armada!

November 8^th 1717:

Aye… ten ports looted, and twenty villages sacked. Ah yes; tis’ good that me and me crew have been plunderin’ so much loot these past few months; but something seems to be amiss. Was it the sheer sense of excitement I would get in ma’ belly when I saw unprotected treasure fleets yonder? Or was it the pleasure I got from senselessly maimin’ the captives and refusin’ to ransom em’ back for anything less than their bodies’ weight? I dunno, but somethin’ seems to be lackin’ in this… in this adventurous thrill of mine. Maybe I’ll find out what it is once I get me some o’ that good ole’ castillian- rum!

December 18^th 1717

Another plunder; just a passing dingy boat, but still… tis’ a plunder I suppose, if you had nothing good to loot for in weeks…

 

January 2^nd , 1718:

A monstrous storm betide us from outta’ nowhere… all hell seemed to break loose… the ship’s damaged in several places, and we lost three of our men. The ship seems to be off-course, and I got no ideas on where are right now. And to think I could’a sensed a storm from miles away by now. I really need ta’ get off this rum.

January 7^th, 1718:

.. Been out at sea for God knows how long; nothin’ to eat, nothin’ to drink. Haven’t seen many ships pass by either. Josamme thinks we’re off-coast Puerto Rico; Billy Gibbs thinks we’re a mile away from Brazil.  I dunno who to trust right about now, for all the rum stores are startin’ to deplete; and no rum, means… Oh, God a tiny sliver of land would do a lot’a good for me now! Argh!

January 9h, 1718:

… Tired..Hungry…thirsty… No sightin’s of land, or any ships on this barren stretch of sea. I’m startin’ to think this all be some sorta’ punishment from the all mighty. What could I’ve done wrong in me life? Plunderin a few ships? Massacrin’ a few villages? Tis’ all but means to a stable end, after all. But now.. but now I’m startin’ to think that we’ll never find our way out this oceanic wilderness if we don’t repent for our actions.. somehow… but exactly when that chance would come, I know not.

January 11^th: 1718

 Just when I thought I started to lose all hope (and all me sanity with it), I spotted a small injured pelican lying on a single rock protruding from the waters. It’s wing was a mangled mess, and blood bathed its frizzled white coat. Yet, it was still alive. God knows why I decided to do this next, but I steered the ship towards the rock, to the crew’s confusion, and laid anchor near it so I could perch out from the deck and step onto the rock. The crew watched me perplexed as I stepped onto the rock and marched towards the dying bird. I kneeled beside it, and took a real close look at it: the poor thing’s tongue was rollin’ out, and it’s one eye seemed ta’ be bruised! What I did next, perplexes me to this day. I cradled the poor thing in my arms; cradled it as would a parent to child. I gingerly carried it back to the plankboard of me ship, where I was met with appalled looks from the crew, and mouths agape. I yelled, “ This bird is to be nursed back to full health! If it dies upon my ship, and I see that none of ye took an effort in curing it, I’ll behead ye all for mutiny!” My order was met with crazed looks from the crew; but knowing me for what I was, they wordlessly obeyed. And so, we set sail once again; I praying daily that we sight land soon, and an additional prayer this time: that the sea-gull regain its health, and be able to fly again once more. Arrgh, how an injured bird can help us find land is beyond me, but better to do at least one good deed before having to meet my infernal end… whenever that is. Judging by the current state of things, I hope that’ll be soon; but for now, the bird is my only concern. Now… where be that pesky bottle a’ rum?

The Everlasting Horizon

Keelo woke up to the daily crow of the rooster in the morning. The sky was pitch black as always, and the air was freezing cold. Keelo knew that the cold was only a temporary relief, before the blistering sun sears the island during the day.  The familiar spray of the sea hit Keelo in the face as he emerged from his small hut. He took a deep breath, and exhaled in relief. He always found the sea’s presence comforting; after all, this is where he grew up, and his father before him, and so on. He went back in his hut to grab his paddle and straw hat.  Inside, he couldn’t help but notice how cute his wife and daughter looked when they were sleeping in scrunched up positions next to the central fire. My Pearls, he thought. My precious Pearls. To Keelo, his family really was his pearls; they’re the only thing in this world which he can truly call his own.

His walnut colored boat stood out against the sandy beach in contrast. Keelo paced towards the boat, humming to himself. Here we go again, he thought. He pushed his boat from the sands towards the crashing waves with all his strength. The boat floated in one place for a while, patiently waiting for its master to climb aboard. Keelo threw his paddle into the boat, and climbed aboard. His net was still nestled on the wooden floor of the boat. Keelo knew what came next. He held the shaft of his paddle with both of his arms, placing the spade of the paddle into the crashing waves, while holding the hilt aloft. Keelo then rowed further out into the sea, while the morning sun slowly perched out of the horizon. The waves got stronger as Keelo rowed further out in the sea, but the waters looked very smooth. Keelo finally found at a spot in the middle of the ocean, calm, but not completely static. Keelo grasped one end his net tightly, and flung the huge net with both arms into the air. The net spread itself fully in the air, and then landed in the smooth waters. The net floated aloft in the water for a while, silently waiting for unsuspecting prey. He held on to one end of the net, waiting to sense any tugging or pulling from the submerged part of the net.

Nothing to do but wait, he sighed.

This was Keelo’s daily routine for as long as he can remember. Afterall, his family depended on whatever Keelo caught at that day. Clams, oysters, pearls, corals, exotic shards; these were the commodities most prized for. Anything short of that can only guarantee a few days worth supplies and rations.  “Spirits, yield me a good catch today…” murmured Keelo. As he watched the gentle waves surfing past him, Keelo had anxious thoughts buzzing in his head.

Supplies? Good for a week. Clothes? All washes. Oars? Must buy a new one… and the tax collectors.. Oh the damned tax collectors.. can’t let a man live in his own--                      But then his greatest worry came to daunt him once again.

“Leela…” croaked aloud Keelo. “ Oh my daughter… I cannot find it in my heart to force you into something that which you don’t approve of, but I cannot let you waste your future as well!”

 Keelo felt agony and despair seize him His worries started to gnaw at his core. Before Keelo knew what was happening, he broke in tears. He had always been strong for his family, being stoic for better or for worse. But in truth, Keelo’s spirit at this point was like a glass vase, ready to be toppled at any moment. Right when Keelo thought he would completely break down, his net tugged with force. The net tugged tighter and tighter, till Keelo had to use all his strength to reel in the net. “ What in spirits’ name…?!”, exclaimed Keelo. Keelo struggled to pull in the net closer and closer to the boat, until the weight of the net forced Keelo to set aside his oar. He used all his strength to haul in the catch; the boat almost capsized in the effort. From what Keelo could see, it resembled some sort of strange box.. The boat almost swayed sideways. Keelo beheld the strange box, apprehension and excitement blurring his vision. “A chest?” mused Keelo in wonderment.  Keelo noticed that the lid was slightly ajar, and a golden luster gleamed within. Keelo’s heart pounded suddenly. Keelo prayed that he won’t be disappointed this time. With shaking hands, he grasped the lid of the chest, and he closed his eyes. He slowly opened the lid fully, and he could feel the golden gleam illuminate his face. Keelo was sweating, for he had never experienced such tension since he first met his wife. Keelo slowly opened his eyes, and his eyes feasted on the sight. The chest housed thousands of gems, stones, and gold coins. Keelo wanted to faint at the sight, but all he could do was let out the longest gasp in his life. “ By God, even Cortez can’t match such wealth!” said Keelo in bewilderment. At that instance, Keelo’s dreary gloom for his life suddenly changed into visions of expectancy. Keelo’s broken spirit mended itself, with optimism pouring through the cracks. The visions started to flood his mind already; a better house, good food, and fine clothes. But Keelo found relief in the one problem that he could finally solve; his daughter’s future. “She won’t have to live like a popper’s daughter anymore”, said Keelo tearfully. “She can finally marry”.

 Keelo closed the lid of the chest, and grabbed his paddle. He rowed his way back to the beach, but before he set shore, he was frozen still. Keelo saw Leela at the far side of the shore, holding hands with a young, tan boy about her age. He looked strong, built, and good natured; faults couldn’t be discerned at first glance, Keelo concluded. They were laughing and playing, until the pair got real close to each other. Soon, the two kissed. A cold breeze swept past Keelo’s unflinching eyes. The ocean suddenly seemed much larger than it actually was. “My daughter... she has found her love…!” breathed Keelo. He stared at the chest which lay beside him, still gleaming with Keelo’s hopes. He glanced at the couple, and then at the box.  Without a second thought, Keelo heaved the immense chest, and chucked it across the boat and into the gulping water.  He then turned towards the sun, closed his eyes, and took the longest breath of life. He felt that only now, has he found the true bounty of life.

A thought

Hi guys! This is my blog, where I shall pour forth my deepest thoughts. My words are meant to carry a message; so please, take a moment, sit, and think. Also, wisdom carries itself in many forms, so remember; a funny story or a short anecdote may carry itself farther than expected, if the thinker is wise. However, don't think too much! Let the words carry you as it pleases.

- Sid