The storm is still, silent, brewing, whispering to me the promise of a force to be reckoned with. A gust of wind brushes past, reminding me of my own inner turmoil. A plan. I need a plan…I hear Micah, frantically ushering to everyone to prepare to leave this horrid place. I mutter to myself, “Tahiti, Dutch…Tahiti”. I think back to a conversation I had with Arthur, a few weeks back. “This place ain’t no such thing as civilized. It’s man so in love with greed, he has forgotten himself, and only found appetites.” My son…my dear boy… How have things gone so wrong, why does he doubt me? Why can’t he have some faith… in his dear old Dutch. The same Dutch who gave him shelter… food… love…a family.
My thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of Arthur, with an all too familiar look of rage on his face. I should know, he learned it from me…I slowly emerge from my tent, almost as if one wrong step could erase our world, or what we have left of it. I am transfixed on Arthur, analyzing him, wondering what his next move will be; he finally looks at me, and says, “I just saw Agent Milton, Dutch. Abigail shot him. She’s okay…not that you care too much about that. You rats… all of you.” He spat it out, almost as if poison was on his tongue. Arthur glares at me, as if flames were dancing in his eyes. My mind is rumbling with thoughts, how could my son think so little of me? It feels as if my head is going to burst, as I try and comprehend this situation. I just need a plan…one more plan. Arthur dryly remarks, “Seems old Micah was pretty close with Milton.” Arthur still maintains looking at me, with the same fiery enmity, as if his glare was going to singe my black hair right off. Micah defensively responds, “What the hell are you talking about, cowpoke?” Micah cocks a smirk towards him, as if to tempt Arthur to finally combust, and end us all. Maybe an inferno would be best, cleanse our sins, and start anew.
Arthur finally takes a breath, and turns his gaze towards Micah. He calmly, and cautiously responds, “You talked.” Arthur’s tone ignites Micah, as Micah instantly responds, with intelligence, and fierceness says, “That’s a goddamn lie.” His eyes burn into Arthur, matching the same intensity. Part of me is in bewilderment of Micah’s response, as I doubt his fierceness, for a moment of weakness. I brush this off, Micah is loyal, he has faith…we have a plan…Arthur turns to me, with a desperate look in his eye, and he says almost wistfully, “Dutch…” I look at him, and I see my son… my boy… does he have faith in me again? Micah takes a breath, “Dutch…’ he says knowingly, “…Think of the future”. I take a breath, uneasy, walking closer into this treacherous storm. Arthur stares at Micah, unwilling to back down so easy, something I have always admired about Arthur. Loyalty… Faith… Arthur after what feels like hours, finally says, “Milton told me”. Micah exasperatedly responds, “And you believe him, Black Lung? You believe him?” Micah looks at Arthur, in a condescending manner, as he tries to rile Arthur further. Mocking him… I look upon them, my family, unsure of what to believe. My efforts have all been for my family… our family… fighting against the world that strives to condemn us all. These ungrateful men, who seek to tame this free, and opulent world. It feels like I am standing on shaky ground, almost as if the ground threatens to crack open, and swallow me whole from the tension I am feeling. Arthur shakes his head, almost as if he is finally waking up from this nightmare. He softly says, “It all makes sense now.” The air around me felt tense, unstable, as if it was going to rupture at any second. Micah hotly responds, “No… It damn well doesn’t.” In mere seconds, as if the ground was struck, guns have been aimed at one another… the storm is finally here; it’s erupting, and ready to strike again at any moment.
Arthur pulls me from my thoughts, as he sharply says, “Dutch… think!” I look upon my family, the people I have raised, killed for, and wonder, how they have singlehandedly turned into a raging typhoon. All I have tried to do is give them a kingdom worth living for, something that is worth their presence. Why can’t Arthur see that? My boy… Micah pulls me out of my reflection, as he remarks, “Dutch… Be practical now.” I begin to remind myself of what we are trying to do. My plan… We need to leave. I look upon my son, Arthur, my prodigal son. How could this be happening? What would Hosea think of me?
Suddenly, my frantic thoughts come to a halt. John emerges from the woods, with a hand clenching his side, something that looks to be a grave injury. My boy… My heart is pounding through my ears, silencing any other thoughts I had. John hobbles towards me, with a fiery look in his eyes, and yells, “Dutch!” Micah, eagerly responds, “John!” John looks at me, with heartbroken eyes, and chokes out, “You left…you left me to die!” I look at him, feeling as bleak as the clouds above me, and declare, “My boy… I didn’t have a choice.” The tempest in my mind, it’s clouded my reason, my heart, and ultimately my sons. I murmur to myself, under a whisper, quiet as the wind, “It was for you, my son…” I croak out, “John I didn’t…”Hopeful that he will understand, he will have faith… in me. John gasps out, “You…” I interject, “I didn’t have a choice.” My son…my poor boy… I look upon his injuries, and fight the urge to run over to him. John cries out, “Left me!” I look at John mournfully; I try to think of how I can explain… to make him see my plan. I feel perplexed with emotion; my eyes start to fog up, as I shamefully lower my head. I wonder how my family could be so damaged, so broken. I stand before them, an infirm old man, who only seeks to protect his family. That’s all I’ve ever tried to do…
Written by Olivia Mickus