Confessions of a Preteen Powder Monkey - 1
Created | Updated May 31, 2006
Confessions of a Preteen Powder Monkey
There were showers of splintered wood raining down on me, erupting in time with the music of the canons, like some type of deadly firework display. Clutching my dagger in my teeth, with one heroic leap I fled to the sleeping quarters. My plan was simple, but ingenious; I would hide under the table until the scary people went away. I was interrupted from doing so by a sudden, terrifying exclamation: “Prepare to board!”
I heard fighting on the deck above me, and held my breath. After a while the sounds of the battle faded away, to be replaced by the cheers of our ship’s new owners. Then there was another shout: “Fire on the deck! Abandon ship!”
I watched with growing horror as a plank of burning wood fell down from the deck above me, shortly followed by several others. That’s the problem with wood, I thought, no individuality. Always caving in to peer pressure. Suddenly I fully realised what was happening. I thought carefully of the best course of action, and decided on whimpering hysterically. I looked out from my table, up at the growing hole in the deck above me. I remember seeing the main mast, now engulfed in flame, fall down painfully slowly on top of me, and then everything went black.
I woke up lying on a beach, clinging for dear life to what appeared to be the remains of a burnt table, and with a feeling like my head was being beaten in by a mallet. The first thought that struck me was how horribly clichéd the whole thing was. Still groggy, my mind drifted back and I had one of my philosophical moments. Who am I? Why am I here? What is my purpose in life? My purpose in life, or so it seems from recent experiences, is to be chased by rather angry looking people with sharp objects. Why am I here, stranded on a beach in the past, is slightly more complicated. First of all, the stranded-on-a-beach bit is obvious to all of you but the most terminally dense. I am currently in some section of the past (my history was never very good – I blame the state school system), but I still haven’t figured out which. Judging by the abundance of pirates, and the fact that there is no electricity (let alone i-pod minis), I reckon that it’s got to be some time around 1940. Now for the reason I’m stuck in the past, which goes as follows…
One day I was just sitting innocently playing Mario Kart on my Nintendo DS when I was interrupted from doing so, and was suddenly whisked up in a series of events so inexplicable that I can’t be bothered to try to explain them to you. My name, by the way, is-
At this moment I realised the enormity of the situation. I was stranded without food on a desert island. Never mind, I thought. I know what to do. I’ve seen “Lost,” and I’m much smarter than they are. Obviously the first thing to do is to sacrifice the comedy fat guy for food. I’ m alone. Drat, foiled again.
I looked up and to my surprise saw two scantily clad Amazon (Amazonian?) girls holding spears. “Hep… me…” I tried, through a mouth only until recently full of seawater. Then I realised it was useless. There was no way that they would speak English. Suddenly one of them spoke, in what must be the most complicated language in the world. “Sure, buddy. We’ll have you up and about in no time.”
“You… speak… who…wha..?” I said, or something equally pithy.
“I’m Amjlxiaha-ghana,” said the Amazonian (Amazon?), “and this is Jen.”
“You…sp…nglish?”
“Sure. We learned it from the last missionary we ate.”
It took a while for this to sink in. Two scantily clad Amazon (Amazonian?) cannibal girls. Never mind, I thought. I know what to do. I’ve seen “Cannibal Women of the Avocado Jungle of Death.” The obvious thing to do is find the giant Avocado King, and-
Then it struck me. Desert island. Oh dear…
There were showers of splintered wood raining down on me, erupting in time with the music of the canons, like some type of deadly firework display. Clutching my dagger in my teeth, with one heroic leap I fled to the sleeping quarters. My plan was simple, but ingenious; I would hide under the table until the scary people went away. I was interrupted from doing so by a sudden, terrifying exclamation: “Prepare to board!”
I heard fighting on the deck above me, and held my breath. After a while the sounds of the battle faded away, to be replaced by the cheers of our ship’s new owners. Then there was another shout: “Fire on the deck! Abandon ship!”
I watched with growing horror as a plank of burning wood fell down from the deck above me, shortly followed by several others. That’s the problem with wood, I thought, no individuality. Always caving in to peer pressure. Suddenly I fully realised what was happening. I thought carefully of the best course of action, and decided on whimpering hysterically. I looked out from my table, up at the growing hole in the deck above me. I remember seeing the main mast, now engulfed in flame, fall down painfully slowly on top of me, and then everything went black.
I woke up lying on a beach, clinging for dear life to what appeared to be the remains of a burnt table, and with a feeling like my head was being beaten in by a mallet. The first thought that struck me was how horribly clichéd the whole thing was. Still groggy, my mind drifted back and I had one of my philosophical moments. Who am I? Why am I here? What is my purpose in life? My purpose in life, or so it seems from recent experiences, is to be chased by rather angry looking people with sharp objects. Why am I here, stranded on a beach in the past, is slightly more complicated. First of all, the stranded-on-a-beach bit is obvious to all of you but the most terminally dense. I am currently in some section of the past (my history was never very good – I blame the state school system), but I still haven’t figured out which. Judging by the abundance of pirates, and the fact that there is no electricity (let alone i-pod minis), I reckon that it’s got to be some time around 1940. Now for the reason I’m stuck in the past, which goes as follows…
One day I was just sitting innocently playing Mario Kart on my Nintendo DS when I was interrupted from doing so, and was suddenly whisked up in a series of events so inexplicable that I can’t be bothered to try to explain them to you. My name, by the way, is-
At this moment I realised the enormity of the situation. I was stranded without food on a desert island. Never mind, I thought. I know what to do. I’ve seen “Lost,” and I’m much smarter than they are. Obviously the first thing to do is to sacrifice the comedy fat guy for food. I’ m alone. Drat, foiled again.
I looked up and to my surprise saw two scantily clad Amazon (Amazonian?) girls holding spears. “Hep… me…” I tried, through a mouth only until recently full of seawater. Then I realised it was useless. There was no way that they would speak English. Suddenly one of them spoke, in what must be the most complicated language in the world. “Sure, buddy. We’ll have you up and about in no time.”
“You… speak… who…wha..?” I said, or something equally pithy.
“I’m Amjlxiaha-ghana,” said the Amazonian (Amazon?), “and this is Jen.”
“You…sp…nglish?”
“Sure. We learned it from the last missionary we ate.”
It took a while for this to sink in. Two scantily clad Amazon (Amazonian?) cannibal girls. Never mind, I thought. I know what to do. I’ve seen “Cannibal Women of the Avocado Jungle of Death.” The obvious thing to do is find the giant Avocado King, and-
Then it struck me. Desert island. Oh dear…
