Charles Portwood
English Davis
Adah
It's noon and God unleashes his unforgiving wrath upon the heathens of this strange place. The many different colors and hues of the inhabitance run for shade from God's unrelenting heat. The population of this estate scatter for cover as noon arrives, "And God said let there be light", too much light in my opinion. I myself had to find cover from this unbearable heat. My skin has turned rooster pink. My skin sizzles and pops as if I was bacon on God's frying pan. Dumb Adah, slowpoke poison-oak running-joke Adah. I limp, dragging one foot behind the other, in a futile effort to reach sanctuary from God's wrath. My skin is burned. Burned is skin my. As I cool off in the shad of a odd tree, with hard balls attached to the top of the trunk, I soak in the world around me. There are small cars with no doors, only a roof and enough room to fit two people. Brown people in blue shirts walk around the estate, cleaning everything in their path. Small societies cluster around their territories, like miniature tribes, talking in an accent I am unfamiliar with. Brown, yellow, and white children laugh and communicate together as if they had no social boundaries between one another. Oh how I wish I could speak the tongue of normal human beings so I could warn of the consequences intermingling will bring. The children carry little boxes of medal with white cords extending out and up into their ears. This is truly a strange place. It seems as though breaking social taboos is the norm for this god-forsaken island. Even the white children such as myself seem different. Many are darker in hue then me turning them into a light brownish yellow color a possible mix breed not yet recorded in any of my books. Could these kids be the missing links in evolution?
I have yet to understand what goes on in the mind of the one known as Adah
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