they will drop me.

ON YOUR KNEES, yells War Horn,

targeting Two Fish

who refuses

until he is forced down

by a bullet

that pierces

his left leg.

CONVERSATION WITH THE CAPTORS

You think you are a big man with this, War Horn says, picking up my gun, and pushing me onto the ground. Do not be influenced by this traitor with his ridiculous tail of hair.

He thinks he is the boss with his patch of fur, adds Croc, laughing, then slicing off Two Fish’s knot of hair with his machete. Blood trickles from the slash.

…

You have nothing to say, big man?

APOLOGIZE TO US FOR THIS BETRAYAL!

…

Boys, this small man has betrayed his brothers, his people. You have witnessed his wrongdoing, each of you, yes?

It is you… who have betrayed your people, says Two Fish, shaking his head in disapproval, as we all watch, petrified, but startled by his boldness.

Ei! He speaks. What do you say?

You have forgotten the way. And you will suffer for that.

I am the one with the gun on your cheek, little man, says War Horn. Tell me who will suffer.

And, what is this nonsense on his cheek, brother. Is it a fish? Croc says to Strength, who does not respond, who has never said a word, only showing his rotten teeth through a wicked grin.

He has two fish on his face. Maybe we should throw him over the cliff, see if he can swim like them, War Horn says, which they each find funny.

No one should bite another. What you are doing is treason against your souls. You must take these boys home.

Do not worry, your soul will go home soon enough, little man, Crocodile says, laughing.

To me, to us, Two Fish yells, right before he jumps up, Those who stand tall see their own destiny shine.

ENOUGH! War Horn yells back, knocking him down.

Do not test us again, Crocodile says to us.

If you are a fool and try to run again, War Horn says, let us show you what will happen.

CONSEQUENCE

Like a game,

the three madmen

take turns

ferociously emptying rounds

of death

into the hairless skull

of Two Fish

until he is unrecognizable,

his face disappearing

beneath a river

of red.

WELCOME

It is two harsh daybreaks

and one stormy nightfall

bound wrist to waist

marching in boiling hot

across beaten red earth

then paddling the mighty Pra River

before we finally stop

before we dock

at a long pathway

leading to a hill

that holds

a high-walled

sinister-looking

colossal white castle

at its peak.

The wonderfuls are there, War Horn says to us, with a sneer, pointing up to the castle, then shoving us out of the cramped boat. Akwaaba! This is your new home.

AT THE CASTLE ENTRANCE

in front of a

giant, blackened wooden gate

are three severed heads

on spikes

greeting us

like a scene

from Shakespeare

only this tragedy