Children buried on Pirates Island.

My name is Israel. I am the captain of this outrigger fishing boat. Even though it was old and dilapidated my  crew treated me with utmost respect. 

"Time to dive, children!"  I ordered the three children to dive below the corals and  scared the  the fishes with their  metal poles.

As they performed their assigned task,  the children  also enjoyed the beauty of the undersea. But I know they will surely enjoy life if they were studying in school.
I could see them playing underwater as they work. It never crossed on their mind that beneath that underwater beauty lurked a life- threatening danger.

I saw the slashing fin of a shark approaching them as they swam above the water.

"Shark! Shark! Get up! Get up fast!" I shouted at them.

I could see that they were terrified. They cried for help upon seeing the danger. The three scampered toward our boat splashing hard in panic.

With a spear gun in my hand I jumped on the water and swam toward them.

But the predator was too fast. The shark spurted toward the sluggish swimmer that was left behind.

"Oh , God! Spare the child. " that's all I could mutter as the shark splashed its tail to snapped the leg of the child.

Jesse, though wounded and with only one  leg, still swam away.
As the shark devoured the child's leg, I positioned myself to spear the reversing shark.

The spear hit the shark at the belly and out of pain it scampered away.

Above the boat, Jesse's amputated leg  bled profusely. The three children were crying as they hugged their friend. I was terribly upset. We have no first aid medicine. Our financier had never furnished us this kind of thing. Now my child crew is dying and I could do nothing.

Hatred came out of me. I coursed him.  I loathed   my master; the owner of the boat, the financier of the fishing expedition.
How many times I had told him, not to hire  children. But this man was a clever exploiter. He was   ruthless too. I can do nothing. I needed this job so badly and I owed him a considerable amount of money when I got sick.

The bleeding was stopped but our boat was coated with the blood of Jesse. He  was pale and weak. He was wailing in pain calling the name of his mother as the two boys embraced him. All of them  were crying. I can't help him, we are in the middle of the sea. It was so devastating to me and I cried silently upon looking at his hopeless situation.

One of my elderly companion shook his head. he knew the child won't last.


The nearest island was the Pirates Island. It was called that way for the island was the the favorite stop over of the pirates,  as legend says.

On the beach I carried the remains of Jesse wrapped in a blanket. It was  the most haunting  funeral  that  had ever happened to me. We walked in line along the lonely beach. The wind blew restlessly and the gulls flew overhead above us  in circle. In this uninhabited island,  we were the only souls walking on its beach. Then it rained and bathed us with cold showers.

It rained hard as we lowered the body of the child in his grave in an island in the middle of the sea.

In memory of Jesse and all the exploited, children of the sea.