I was born in the rather small town of Mallorca in the island of Palma in Spain. Brought up in the dreadful slums of the otherwise beautiful town, I lived a happy and content life together with my family. Even though we were deprived of the luxuries of life, we satisfied ourselves with whatever little we had.
I was only thirty years old at the time. My friends and I were walking through the town when we came across a large crowd gathered up at the noticeboard. We walked over and read what would soon enough, change our lives for better or worse. Here's what it said:
Dear commoners of Mallorca,
Greetings from the Royal Palace of King Charles V! Following the huge success of the Spanish conquest in America, there has been a huge demand of workers for work in the rich lands and shores of America. Therefore, all who are interested in coming on board the Lynx and sailing across the Atlantic Ocean to make a living are free to do so. Make sure to only bring your most important valuables.
From The Desk of King Charles V
This was a time of great sufferings and economic hardships for most of Spain, so this opportunity proved to be the light at the end of a tunnel.
Very soon, thousands of families, including my very own, crossed the Atlantic on board the Lynx in the hope for a better future. After a week's sailing, they showed up on the shores of Aquatio in Florida, determined to make most of this new opportunity they had gotten.
Life was going by well for a while. Some went further inland but many, including my own family, decided to remain by the coasts. We built settlements along the shorelines and started fishing to put bread on the table. We were very happy and content with our new lot and we probably would have continued to remain so, had it not been for him.
We had only heard tales about the menacing Sir Francis Drake, the English sailor who brought havoc upon Spanish lands. A hero to the English and a bandit to the Spanish, we considered him to be nothing more than an accomplished pirate whose achievements were exaggerated beyond recognition.
It had been three years since we first arrived in Florida when we saw those dreadful flags. White flags with the English crosses roared about in the wind on massive ships. Little did we know that we would soon come to hate those flags with a tremendous passion for many years to come.
In the following days, we were constantly reminded of the cruel, inhumane methods of Sir Francis Drake. He looted our settlements and anyone who tried to stop him would be sent to the grave. My son was one of the many who made that honorable yet foolish decision. I could only watch in complete awe as my boy, a young lad of barely thirteen years of age, was slaughtered right before my very own eyes. His blood dyed the sands crimson as I sat before him, weeping helplessly.
I mourned the loss of my dear child, taken away from me so early. This grief gave way to anger. I asked the people to fight back against this cruel man but many turned a deaf ear. Fear kept them subdued but I had lived in fear for far too long.
The ships arrived again, looking to take away what little we had. The settlers gave way as the pirates came on land. While the bandits looted our supplies, I sneaked up behind one and wrestled him to the ground. I also managed to grab his cutlass in the process.
Drake seemed undisturbed by the commotion. He calmly took out a pistol and leveled it at my chest. Before he could fire a shot, however, a harpoon went right through him. His eyes widened in shock. He looked down at the blood-covered weapon that had ripped through his stomach.
I seized that opportune moment to bring my cutlass down on him and rid the word of this celebrated killer. His crew was taken aback by what had just happened. The settlers picked up whatever they could find and drove the pirates back to where they came from.
We decided to give Sir Francis Drake a burial at sea. The waters that he once terrorized took what was left of him.
