Island of Blood

     It wasn't until morning that they discovered what he had done. That morning was particularly foggy, as though the weather had foreseen yet untold stories of a struggle. Shrouds of mist twirled lightly in the air, and yet the rising sun set upon the sky a dim glow as daylight approached. Nobody had ever seen their chief, Agueybana II, act as he did that morning. He was a madman, and a crazed one at that, as he rushed about the village rambling incoherent sentences as though he was trying to tell a story at its climax and yet could not prognosticate what effect it would bring. And as the village rose they discovered that their story, from then on, began the day their chief drowned a Spaniard. Among the crowd was a young woman, staring wide-eyed with big brown eyes as her uncle stood before her, speaking to the gathering crowd. Little did she know that she too would be entwined in the tale of the Tainos, forever an ever-present echo among the lives of her people.

     "And so with this meeting, I conclude that we must keep an ever-watchful eye in our village. Some of you who had followed my brother faithfully years ago may disagree with my actions, and yet it had to be done. The Taino people are not a force to be reckoned with, and this is the message that must be instilled in the heads of the Spaniards. Should the day arise when we awaken to battle cries and spilt blood, we fight back! Our blood keeps this island alive; it is our blood that flows like the rivers of Boriken, providing its land with life and a constant flow of effervescence. We are the pure emerald waterfalls rushing at the heart of this island."

     His voice rang out throughout the crowd, and yet seemed only a whisper in the wind compared to the fear that permeated the air surrounding. Seeing that he would get no controversy regarding his actions, he continued with a brief and subtle sentence.

     "Meeting dismissed."

     His soft brown hair, like mine, swept back in the wind as he stepped out of the middle of the meeting platform, and a frustrated look was set upon his face. In all these years he remained relatively the same, just as I had remembered him when times were happier. But now tinges of gray were present in his hair as well, like my father years before. But I could feel no sympathy for my uncle now. I stood there waiting with my arms crossed, conveying the very message of irritably that I wished to display.

     "War will be upon us soon, this is no time to pout." he said gruffly as he approached me.

     "Pout?," I said softly, "pouting is what happens when a child does not get their way. I am no child any longer nor am I pouting. You stole what was rightfully mine, and what has been rightfully mine for years. At least you had the decency to tell me when the approachment of daylight provided you with the confidence. You have raised me well uncle, I must admit, but I wish you had done so without the presence of a lie."

     "A lie to keep you safe."

     "A lie to deny me my power. And to keep my people safe."

     "They are my people too."

     "You should have told me this when my father died."

     "You were still too young."

     A brief silence passed between us as he pondered what he should say next. I knew that he did not want to enrage me further.

     "Can I ask you a question, Uncle?" I said, breaking the unnerving silence.

     "...If you wish."

     "My father was a nobleman. He welcomed the Spanish with open arms. When he died, you took his power as Chief. What was supposed to be mine when I turned of age five years ago. When you took power you fought against the Spanish. So now this question is mine to ask. Who is the real enemy?"