The Roanoke Colony

One of the first English attempts to organize a colony in the New World (North America) and to make countless generations of native people happy, started well...only to end horribly.

In 1585, about 150 colonists settled on Roanoke Island on the Atlantic coast of present-day North Carolina. The colony was supplied by ships, but at that time there was no way to maintain regular traffic between England and the island-object of colonization.

On several occasions from 1585 to 1587 ships came and went from the island where, despite certain problems, the situation was fine, even the first English colonist born on American soil (the first `American`) was from the ranks of that colony. I don't believe they christened Hank and that he was born with a Bud Light sixpack in his hands, but whatever it was, he was the first.

Due to the Anglo-Spanish War (the one with the Great Armada and an even bigger storm) and reduced sea traffic - the colony was left without contact with the outside world for 3 years.

John White, the father of the first child born in the New World who returned to England in 1587 to procure material for the colony's needs - returned to the island, but not after a few months as he had planned but after three years due to circumstances. And he had something to see...or rather, he didn't have anything, because there was no trace of the inhabitants, all of them disappeared and to this day their fate is unknown.

Not only the people but also the houses, barns and other buildings disappeared. All the sailors found was an obscure inscription in an unknown language "Croatoan", a carved Maltese cross in wood, a few cannons and some small items...

One of the many unsolvable mysteries that our blue planet is so rich in, one of the many events that inspire millions of armchair Indiana Jones`s on an adventure through the brain synapses if not through the geographical location of the event.

And why not? Almost everything is known, all the songs have been sung and all the pictures painted. Only the incidents from the abyss of history remain unknown. And a few other small items, but that's another story.

(By Roger Mortis, 039)

Bentley

And so, a man wakes up in the morning and looks out the window...some dark shadow seems to hang over his soul, he is in agony, he screams at those closest to him, he furiously hits a spider crawling on the wall...he looks outside at his Punto - a contemporary of the Cranberries and depressive thoughts with a suicidal flavor suddenly come to his brain, that full coma.

Why? 

Because he doesn't have a Bentley, and a station wagon version at that, so that he can transport a bag of cement even a truck across the fast lane of the highway to...oh wait, if he had a Bentley he wouldn't have to transport a bag of cement anywhere...and a bag of money maybe!? Yes...great! A bag of money...and he'll count it at night before going to bed, stacks of 100 euros right before he fucks that girl who doesn't give a damn about him, the blonde one over there...

He'll just show her what a man he is, just to get rich, that's all he has... shushhh.

He doesn't know how or when the desperate need for the Bentley came to him, but the need is already here and here to stay, it has made a nest in the man's imagination and sits like a lazy cat in front of the stove.

And so, suffering and grumpy, he goes to work to argue with his boss who owes him three months of salary, three times two hundred - six hundred euros, and the bills don't ask... coming to the door of the company, he takes a breath and goes in. Seeing him, the boss smiles forcefully and says to him `Good morning boss, how are you boss, what are we going to do today, how is the wife? Is she okay, huh? Well, fine... and the little boy...?`

He doesn't even make a sound from the imagined argument and a resolute raised tone with which he would demand his money for the work done. He says to himself `"Is almost nothing at least something?" i mean so many people are unemployed, so why should I whine now?" And so, frowning, towards the end of the working day, the boss appears with the good news that it would be nice to stay for another two hours, since he got a call from Demonistan that the vehicle would arrive or something like that...in this way, the boss cruelly interrupted the vision of the Bentley that had come into action in our hero's mind, and it was a vision in High Definition, an incredible resolution, he could even recognize the pigeon droppings on the Bentley's windshield.

(By Roger Mortis, 038)

The Leather Man

In conversations, people often say that their lives revolve around a circle, sometimes a circle from which they can hardly see a way out.

But for one man, the circle of damnation became literal, a way to atone for some long-forgotten sin that remained in his soul, to forever remind him of the ruin of the possibility of a happy life. As a self-proclaimed realistic version of the being created by Dr. Victor Frankenstein - this man believed that he did not deserve to exist among people anymore, although unlike the ``child`` of the new Prometheus - his ugliness was moral and not physical. Or at least that's what he thought, adhering to some very strict moral principles...

In the North Eastern United States near the Saw Mill Woods area around 1858 Anno Domine, people began to notice a man dressed in rough leather clothes that he had ``tailored`` himself, appearing at regular intervals in certain places. At first, they didn't pay much attention to the strange giant, but after a while they realized that the interval at which he appeared in their place was the same, i.e. 36 days. What they later learned was that the Leather Man (as they called him) moved in a circle of 587 km around the Connecticut and Hudson rivers and always passed by their (and not only their) settlement.

Over time, the silent weirdo became likable to them, so they gave him food and tried to find out who he was and why he traveled to the same places without stopping, for years. In addition to mumbling and strange sounds, the man sometimes said something in French, but they couldn't understand him. And it was obvious that he didn't understand English. He never hurt anyone, on the contrary, he was kind to people despite his gloomy appearance.

Over the decades, the Leather Man became a part of local life, fathers told their children that in so many days the great Leather Man would pass through their settlement. And always the man really passed. He slept in caves and shelters that were strategically placed along his eternal route, he fed on what he found, caught or accepted from well-intentioned people.

No one knew his identity, although many stories and speculations were woven. Until 1889, when for the last time he passed the eternal path outlined in his head for the 360th time and was found dead of the cold due to the unusually harsh winter of that year when his worn-out leather clothing failed to save him. A Bible in French and some letters and objects were found in the cave, but his identity remained a secret.

Later, after he entered local folklore, journalists and researchers tried to uncover the secret.

The most famous speculation was that he was supposedly born in Lyon, France under the name Gilles Bourglet, where he worked as a carpenter. The ordeal began after he fell in love with a certain Margaret Laron and wanted to marry her. Since she was from a wealthy family, her father, in accordance with the values ​​of his time - refused to allow the marriage but still decided to give Gilles a chance by employing him in his tannery. If Gilles managed to make a career in a few years - he would also win Margaret's hand.

The beginning was promising, Gilles progressed well and gained confidence, but impatience was the ace up the sleeve of Misfortune, which had the task of capturing another soul. Gilles wanted to make one final move that would shorten the waiting time for the wedding and that was to invest in buying a large quantity of leather, expecting prices to increase drastically in the coming period. Instead, a new tanning technique appeared on the scene that the factory where he worked did not possess and the value of the purchase instead of increasing, fell by half.

All the savings, the trust, the big money from the owner and the opportunity to marry his love - disappeared as if they had never existed. Unable to face the new reality and the collapse of all dreams - Gilles disappeared from Lyon after a while, and soon from France. The story does not say how he got to the United States, but that is not important. Another version makes him a French Canadian who fled for similar reasons across the border to the United States.

Gilles became the Leather Man, turning the eternal circle in his conscience and in the forests of New York State. Voluntarily lonely for the rest of his life, isolated from the small and large pleasures of life and without hope that a human heart would dare to love him - he went into eternity and into the memory of generations of local people who to this day retell the alleged life story of the completely real Leather Man.

(By Roger Mortis 037)

Mold

The door creaked and she entered.

Our hero didn't expect her to accept the invitation, but what is life without a few surprises? He was glad that he would have sex without much effort. Closing the door, his gaze strayed to her breasts, which hung helplessly under the influence of gravity. But that was short-lived because, closing the door through which she had entered, a piece of the wall corroded by moisture fell off.

The room was damp and simply oozed sensuality. He invited her to sit on the chair from which he had previously clumsily removed the torn socks that he had previously mended.

She sat down, shaking her buttocks, long saturated with cellulite. He began to touch her legs that resembled a geographical map with all those dilated veins and burst capillaries...They were turned on! Or at least he forced himself to believe it. They say the power of suggestion was endless.

He started to undress, releasing the bellows that almost didn't allow him to see his penis. He was uncomfortable because the water heater had broken down even before he was fired, so showering was not an option.

A somber smell filled the young lady's nostrils. A moment of crisis had come, a deathly silence that had to be broken somehow... He took out a bottle of brandy and offered it to her, to relax.

After the grimace she made, she decided to drink her ex's brandy and pour herself another glass.

It wasn't long before she spontaneously started to undress. The guy was standing aside, holding him. In a fit of flirtatious madness, he decided to rip off her panties like he had seen in a porn movie. And he did it. And the stench of rotten cheese in which sardines had been kept began to emanate from her crotch like a counterpart to the poison gas that had come out of his pants.

"I'll fuck you",' the guy said seductively through his few missing teeth.

"What's the matter, you think I'm a whore?'' she said with a flirtatious gleam in her glassy eye.

"Now I'll tear you apart from fucking cloting to your flesh, i`ll fuck you so hard you will be able to see Istanbul". 

The police found two bodies in a contented embrace and with blissful expressions on their faces, the initial finding of the medical examiner was that it was a case of suffocation.

(Roger Mortis 036)

Devil's Railroad

In the long and inglorious history of exploitation and in the annals of construction megalomania, (a phenomenon known as `White Elephants` because of their uselessness) - the Trans-Amazon Railway stands out in all its senselessness and tragedy.

Doomed to failure in advance, the cursed project also known as the Madeira-Mamore railway was supposed to bring civilization to the heart of the Amazon. The chances of success of this project existed only in the minds of politicians and nowhere else.

An extraordinarily difficult area for carrying out construction operations, at the beginning of the 20th century, without any infrastructure, hostile tribes, insects, diseases, jaguars and anacondas lurking around. Of course, when there are enough poor people who do not choose much for work, it is not a problem. `Work for nothing, do not sit for nothing`, said their Balkan counterpart. In this case, die for nothing of malaria.

366 kilometers of railway, which became known as the Devil's Railway, took 5 years to build and 13,000 lives of workers.

It is said that a person was buried next to each wooden sleeper on which the rails were laid. The construction that caused so much suffering to people who had never been lucky in their lives, had no chance of succeeding in establishing traffic. Amazonia proved stronger than progress, so finely embroidered on the Brazilian flag, and vegetation and moisture swallowed the damned railway, along with the stations, tanks, locomotives....branches that lead nowhere, stations that no one gets on, locomotives that do not emit smoke, bridges that no hope crosses, thousands of graves that have no names.

Only a small part of the railway remained that could be maintained and cleared of vegetation. The rest was forgotten, like many other projects where the stakes were someone else's fate and lives...

As someone with a dose of morbid resignation noticed, the reason the railroad was being built was that in the 'other world' there was a shortage of suffering human souls, so the demons of this world decided to fill the quota...

The train that is supposed to conquer the Amazon has not yet left the station.

(Roger Mortis 035)