I really enjoyed what you wrote bravo sir 😎

What are these words, these beautifully stringed epitomes constituting  verses and rhythms who wrote? Where can i learn more of this writer who wrote all of the words i am going to bespoke. 

The author doth issue command all at once, silence erupts as he places one small toothpick into his mouth, a kind smile greets you, yes you reading this, whoever you are i am going to take you on an adventure of the mind, i want you to imagine you are the author who is thinking of these words almost gagging to be famous. Gifted in a class higher than most men at writing the nouns and emotions that encompass our universe. Yes you, strap in, look into my kind smiling eyes, let me tell you a story, a story you might soon know 😄. 

 Young yone fethersworth wakes one morning, sun beams into the freshly aired room. The smell of fresh thyme and paprika envelopes the air, welcoming him to embrace the new days potential wonders. 

He washes, dresses size 32” waist 42” chest. Badges of honour and glory litter his garments blue in colour with golden lace glittering throughout. His mission, to head north on a fresh run to round up the lost blind christians. 

To bring them to a place of infinite blessings and opportunities, only if they simply adopt the true religion and allow themselves to be washed in the grace of god allah. 

The great castles of France lining the coast like a fortified prison. The cathedrals of holland beckon even the weariest of souls. Stain glass windows that capture the light and in an explosion of colour radiating the world around. 

A constant influence of this pagan god jesus christ, that gives and empowers these infidels to invade friendly peaceful lands to indoctrinate a culture of hate. 

Yone feels the kiss of the ocean the succulent sting that reminds him he is alive and free. His hair constructed of pheomelanin giving his hair a fiery glow in certain sun conditions. 

Fluent arabic howls instruction at his loyal men, free men after bounties of gold, some of which was taken before they had a chance to grow old. 

These men, Battle hardened men happy to destroy peoples lives to line their own greedy coffers. Yone reaches to his shoulder itching a scratch. His polished rosewater fingers caress the cratered scars, a map of the floggings, the many degradations as his soul was crafted into submission. 

Now many years removed from his painful past he reflects on how good his life is, now built upon the strongest of foundations, contentness of heart and freedom. 

The moon is low, clouds shroud the silently floating boats, dark jagged cliffs almost whisper taunts, striking cold into the hearts of adrenaline filled men. Armour glistening, shields close knit, metallic nipples reflect the moon like eyes of a demon or worse. 

Landfall is a relief, the waves are kind and calm, noone has suffered more than soggy boots that will probably not dry in these cold and unforgiving conditions. A horizontal rain circles in the air unable to touch the ground, some weird energy or power resisting the particles blowing them easily in the wind. 

Tears that flood down and create crude statues that hug the claustrophobic headgear. Made of heavy leather that at least keeps the ears from losing circulation. Puffins standing tall like butlers with the most beautiful flamboyant orange waistcoats stand, curiously examining the men, a skin pigment that was unlike anything here in these areas. 

Sagas had circulated in the populous of heathen muslim pirates who had abducted and sold into slavery, peaceful and honest christians. Many of whom lost parents and grandparents, stolen from their beds carried through treacherous seas and sold into slavery. 

Some brutalised and tortured for the simple amusement of moors, these men so removed from simple human ethics or common decency they did not consider themselves human at all. 

Men living in a psychosis dreamland where they offer salvation and grandeur over their rescued slaves. These blessed people who aren’t even worthy to raise their eyes past satin cloth to gaze upon their captors features. 

Yone and his men split, creeping through the wet marshland their squelches threatening to give away their advantage. They attack.

Resistance in the form of brooms some crude axes and terrified screams greets them. 

It doesn’t take long to round up the majority of the scared defenceless souls. Unable to have any aid from god, apart from their blind devotion to the unknown. That their worldly tribulations are a necessary thing, that if they resist thoughts of the flesh, they will eventually be able to pass into the heavens to dine with god. 

Yone bursts into a stone building its walls curved and cold. Cooked hides and the worst smells humans can produce protrude into delicate nostrils. A figure standing tall, resilient totally free from fear or worry. 

Her eyes, grey and blue, fierce and hardened. Could it be, could it really be? The glassy windows that gazed for hours at a developing thought, soft cracked lips with a familiar safe smile. 

Is this the woman who abandoned him so many springs ago. He had dreamed of her, tried to connect with the memory of his mother, but he had never been able to expand past memories. Was his muslim life severing the connections? was she even trying to think of him at all? 

Asta’s legs crumble their resolve something to be marvelled. The guilt that has haunted her for years doubles then splits in half as she gets overwhelmed and falls to the floor. This man standing in front of her so similar, so very similar to the pirates that had shattered her world all those years ago. 

Could this demon be manifesting itself as a memory of her son yone, whom she has never truly forgiven herself for letting go. Have her worst fears materialised? Of her son being coerced into doing the bidding of evil masters, a puppet. 

They lock eyes paralysed by the what’s, the if’s and the buts. The joy and pain, the guilt and the anger all bottled up ready to burst the world at any moment. Mama? Yone mutters as his battle hardened facade crumbles into nothingness. His tears fall from tired eyes, she pulls herself to hug him sobbing uncontrollably. 

After moments have passed it becomes time to break the connection and find some words to explain this unbelievable reality. To explore how these events have aligned. To determine what sorcery caused these random things to happen, that would bring mother and son back into loving embrace. 

Asta looks out through the circular windows. The stars glistening and shine, Lighting the way back to her second home where love was teased and hearts were broken. 

She is a guest this time not treated as a slave but as a free woman, her return would be of huge reward to father by loyal son. 

Cilleby had never quite been himself again his heart turned to empty ashes. His company, his many wives and concubines were never able to replicate the emotions he once had with a common rebellious slave girl. 

The slave girl that had escaped repeated punishment for the most grievous of wounds and informalities, that no other woman would could have hoped to survive. 

She sits wondering how she got herself in this position, when she had promised to never be taken hostage or manipulated again. Was it fate? maybe chance? Or a deep longing that had been simmering for many moons. 

Thoughts of the satin covered bed that was always so inviting, where dreams had been dreamt and where fantasies materialised like the hidden people. So many questions and visions of what life would have been like if she had chosen to stay and not take the cowards way out.

Asta steps off of her floating prison, the ground feels strange as it stands firm. A feeling she had until recently forgotten. The city she remembers all too well, the mighty and advanced area called Alges. 

The white washed walls were only differentiated by the size of the door, or the size of the balcony overlooking perfect blue seas. Rare and exotic fruits grew within the richest’s courtyards, often riches made off slavery and subjugation. 

She has been treated much kinder this time, compared to the untold suffering during the many oh so real memories. she has eaten well, she has been garbed with the finest of garments. The ones that she had longed to once again have wrapped around her warm body. 

Captain Yone disembarks after his men have shackled and ordered the bounty of humans. Their takings have been good. Many fit young men and supple women have reached the shores unharmed and plump, well fed and looking healthy. 

Yone had become somewhat of a legend for the quality of slaves he and his men fetched. The majority would bolster their new homes, welcomed by a promise of heaven granted by the grace of the prophet Allah. 

The ‘yone slaves’ usually welcomed their new way of life, freeing themselves of the torrid conditions back north. Many buying their freedom or being gifted freedom by their kind masters. 

In so they would go on to have affluent positions within a well managed society. Alges had continued to grow exponentially thanks to the many foreign free people all working together in harmony for the greater good. 

Asta doesn’t know what to think, what to feel. Her heart wizzing at the speed of sound resinates an anxious vibration. The front she presents behind her tightly fastened vail, struggles to keep a foothold in the world. 

She is terrified of the many roads that lay before her, how will he react? Would cillibe remember her, has he lusted her as she has often done so for him, on lonely cold winters nights barely able to think of anything past frozen extremities. 

They reach the door, it has changed since the times she remembered. The door is grand and made of the finest oak, encrusted with crests and gold, and many sagas of times that had gone by. 

She paused as one saga catches her sapphire eyes, a tale of forbidden love and mighty stories carried across the sea. Prosperity and heartbreak, longing and heart ache. Asta lets out a sigh, wondering if her satin pillow would still be there to welcome her. 

A pretty young maid answers the door, she has a Spanish complexion. Warm glowing cheeks and deep green eyes that dispel any sadness. Asta forgets for a minute who she is. Her premonition lays frayed and torn, having not been greeted by soldiers or anger. 

Well my friend I’m the reader and i really like what you wrote, you really did write the words they bespoke, all the way back to when times were harder, people really were alot sadder. So thankyou so much, thankyou i scream it aloud, for gifting me the chance to transcribe my fine lyrics and hopefully bring a smile all at once.

This is yours, truly brad sellick, a A+E nurse, a father, a dancer, a writer, no golf course. A huge love of peace and harmony is whats always right, nobody should have to go hungry or get frightened or fight.

We should all work together gifting gems of the mind, a kind word here, goes a long way when carried along a chain of melodies, the time of social media, the news keeps people introverted focus’ing on celebrities and people with more everything than most, to keep people hooked in the game called life, a bleep test still struggling with a very faint glimmer of delight, retirement where we can finally put down our plight, stop having to kill ourself and finally have the right, to sit down for 10 minutes in our own home we own outright.

Heaven some say, they fight and they fight, burying their brothers to get further to have that retirement delight. They work through the nights and sometimes 7 a week missing the small things like children growing so fast. Time that can never ever be brought, time coveted by the olden ones who remember wonderful times they did not get to report,

the goal to accumulate enough wealth so that one day they maybe able to put up their feet, for no reason other than they deserve to live in their own world, their inspiring little bubble that doesn’t always get the chance to be released, the life that is depressed needing to let off release to feel safe and worshipped you try harder than most.

I guess this story comes out today for the first time and i hope, You the beautiful kind reader enjoyed what you just helped me to wrote 😎 you are my favourite author, an elequented free sprite, trying to earn a nickle while also trying to eclipse everything in the world with a thought.

“I’d rather assume the best, and be disappointed r than finding the true and being hurt.”

”if you aren’t everything, what is the point in being anything”

yours truly

brad sellick, soon to be roofer, render cleaner free and happy able to help others the most. 😘