A Voyage Wrapped in Paper

Friday. A prisoner arrived tonight holding a card. Not a weapon, not a map, a card with a ribbon on it. Somebody gave it to her for Christmas. Somebody gave her, as a present, an hour locked in my hold.

I have thought about this all evening. When I was a boy, a present was an orange. Now it is apparently the chance to be captured by the most feared pirate in the Caribbean and escape with his gold. I am a stocking filler.

Her crew got out with time to spare, and she waved the card at the camera on the way past, as if to say thank you. To whom? Not to me. I received nothing. Nobody has ever bought me an hour in anybody’s hold.

Still. If people are wrapping me up and putting me under trees, then I am, in my way, beloved. I have decided to take it as a compliment and to sulk about it as an insult.

Scarface has asked for one of these vouchers for Christmas. I asked what for. He said for the island, so he can see what it is like from the other side. Odd fellow.