Your ship sucks. Thanks a ton for leaving me stranded on an African beach with a dead ship. The Europeans here are lazy and only supposedly intelligent because of their parents' riches and that's how they're coasting through life, on this tropical coast. And beyond the coast is a wall. A green wall stops our entry to a prehistoric location. No entry is possible through the deep thickets, full of bugs and hungry dinosaurs. At night the forest roars of silence lulling me into the impossibility of sleep. The only hardworking person I've heard of since coming to the Dark Continent is signor Kurtz. He's climbing the power ladder, built from African wood, while his morals are Niagra Falling. He is very respected or feared. Whichever, because it doesn't matter. Like a diety it's both and he's listened to without opposition. His self-made image is bigger than the Congo Jungle, with just as many dark nooks and crannies.
As Rick Ross appropriately raps:
Self-made, You just affiliated
I built it ground up, You bought it renovated
He's at the top with too heavy of an ego that will send him down. Likely this will occur at the hands of this boy and his uncle that I heard talking poorly about signor Kurtz. They want him gone. And they don't care who knows. I can trust the natives working aboard my ship better than these flaky, egotistical Europeans. The natives do the jobs better and work harder. They are uneducated, but that is not their fault and we come in and take advantage of their incompetence and enslave them. We are running out of food and must find Kurtz soon. Maybe he can strengthen my biceps enough so I can climb up the power ladder behind him; hopefully he is not sick with any of the new tropical diseases. If he does fall to sickness, he will hit the ground hard and leave a nice open slot at the top that I can hopefully fill. Just last night as we were going up the river, we stopped at a small clearing and I found a book with what I later learned to be Russian written in the margins as well as a note saying to be cautious. We could feel, if not see, the eyes of the inland natives staring at these invaders on a massive shiny water creature. They knew nothing of us; we could barely recognize their presence. Sticks starting to hit our ship. The bloody ruffians were shooting arrows at us! In general, there was little force to them and I got out of the way. A big loss was the fact that my helmsman was mortally wounded. That's tragic. An attack from the trees themselves; out of nowhere. That's magic. Sensing their was nothing else to do I struggled to lift this burly man from our ship and into the river. Adios. I did not want any of my men to even think of consuming a fellow mate. We lost all his belongings as well: a proper burial in this savage place. The smell of death reeks in the humidity here. The very soil is the death of all the plants and animals before us, to which my good helmsman was added. The unknown factor surrounding everything in this continent instills fear in us Europeans. We are no longer in control, but we desperately want to be. The Imperialist movement will fail my dearest aunt. Adios.
~Marlow
P.S. Aunt Ali Bambina, I drew this picture of signor Kurtz from my mental image of him. I would say he is probably the biggest boss in Africa!
IP address: http://content8.flixster.com/question/67/63/41/6763414_std.jpg
Joseph. I like your brain.
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