𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲

𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐈𝐗

The man, Joseph Crackstone, looked just like his paintings, but the vicious look in his eyes made him look like a demon.

"We were here before you, living in harmony with nature and the native folk. But you have stolen our land." The boy's eyes were glistening but the tall pilgrim only stood with an authoritative and proud look on his pale, slightly wrinkly face. "You have slaughtered the innocent. You have robbed us of our peaceful spirit." the boy accused, his deep voice ringing with emotion.

He secretly slides a thin dagger into his large, pale hand, prepared to use it.

"You are the true monster. All of you!" he yells, looking around the crowd.

Suddenly, the boy gets up and with one swift motion, slices through Crackstone's face.

The villagers exclaim in surprise and fear. They didn't know what this seemingly helpless boy could do.

He was quickly grabbed by a man, holding his arms firmly behind his back.

"Punish him!" yells another.

Joseph Crackstone puts a large pale hand to his bleeding face and looks down at the blood.

"The Devil ne'er sent such a demon." he seethes as he smiles wildly, flashing the thrashing boy his mouth of straight white teeth.

"Ah!" His hand meets the boy's face, hard, and Goodman nearly falls over, forcefully brought back into a standing position by the man restraining him.

The boy's floppy dirty-blonde hair was messy and he looked defiantly at Crackstone, his light brown eyes betraying his cold, hard hatred.

"And I will send you back!" Crackstone announces loudly and clearly.

He turns to walk to the large wooden house behind him, the meeting house that Saturday had come out of, despite Goodman's protests: "NO!" The young, thrashing boy was yelling his lungs out, but he was too physically overpowered.

The villagers continue to holler and clamour like a pack of bloodthirsty wild animals as Goodman is dragged forcefully into the large house.

Two pilgrims open the double doors, one on each side, revealing all the prisoners inside.

Saturday's dark, clever obsidian eyes glint as he darts out from the large wooden barrel and swiftly slides into the hollering crowd.

"You are abominations in the Devil's grip!" yells Crackstone, madness and exhilaration in his tone, as he hurls Goodman violently onto the ground inside the meeting house.

The young boy winced in pain.

Saturday quickly and silently ducks behind another large wooden barrel, inside the meeting house, observing keenly .

"I will not stop till I have expunged this New World of every outcast." the deranged pilgrim shouts coarsely, to the mob of prisoners inside: men, women and children, all look back at him, shivering in fear, their hands cuffed with heavy metal chains.

"Godless creatures!" he finishes cruelly, stalking out of the meeting house with his men in his wake, their bright flaming torches lighting up the dark sky and illuminating their metal pitchforks.

Two men grab onto the two doors and lock it firmly, cramping a piece of long wood over it.

The outcast captives cry out in vain.

Goodman took in the tragic scene: helpless women clung to their husbands, to no avail as the men trembled.

"SET IT ABLAZE!" orders Crackstone, his loud voice piercing through the black night with no stars, no hope.