Rebirth is the first short story produced by me in 2007, this is an excerpt, enjoy

Rebirth

by Mark James

Legend has it that she woke up and was there. No concept of time was taken into consideration then or after: no assistance was offered, no questions asked with regard to what seemed like her sudden existence there on the island. The other beings knew her path and purpose, at least so they thought, and the Gods did not explain their meaning and intentions to lesser figures. Their laws were ever-changing and yet to be written.
Life began when she opened her eyes and was there. Lying on her back as if washed up and left behind by the rapid tide. The light was blinding. The trees, like lazy beasts, nodded their heads and waved their arms as if in protest of some unknown occurrence. Waves crashed upon her body removing some of the sea moss and other things coiled upon her frame. Not realizing that she was one of many there, Irene suddenly saw what she supposed was human, come into her line of vision. From the left, it moved in to block out the sun: “Get up chile!” Janice exclaimed. Irene obeyed. She slowly arose and stood erect. It was as if some unseen force was in control of her mind and limbs. Her eyes roved about taking in the scene, a vast ocean that sat neatly upon a distant horizon, Large stubborn ocean rocks resisting the push of waves or the sway of  hot and persisting winds that beckoned them closer inland. She opened her lips to speak but her voice wouldn’t come. It would take days before her spirit took its place and become housed within her body. As she continued to observe her surroundings Irene realized that Janice was nothing like her. Janice’s face resembled the human form and so did most of her body. She was childlike in appearance, clothed in a simple cotton shirt and a skirt of the same material with worn and uneven edges. And she wore a large hat that shrouded her face in shadow. Oddly enough Janice’s feet were pointed in the wrong direction. Irene was suddenly scared and not knowing why, she backed away from the dwarfed woman’s image. Irene’s eyes darted from the form before her, then to her own, scanning for defects. “Chile, you act like you never seen a Douen before,” Janice sucked her teeth and then continued, “you better come on girl, people been looking for you and I can’t speak for dem but I don’t have all day.” With that said, Janice turned and headed north. Irene followed her, bewildered. And then the sun went down. That is how it began.
Within a week, Irene’s voice made its way into her. It was a painful process. Some days she would drift off unconsciously and then awaken suddenly to find herself back where she began, by the water. Sometimes she would be completely immersed in it, other times her feet and legs were covered in it. One time she awoke panicked and unable to breath realizing that she was in head first. Irene never knew how she got there. As each day passed her throat and ears and the glands that assisted their function would hurt a little less.  The yellow sun would rise and set seven times before Irene could speak her first words.
Immediately she fell in love with it, the sound of that voice, the melody of it, the base and pitch and overall tone complemented the rest of her well. She knew it and so did everyone else. But something was amiss. The girl did not know what it was but she would soon find out. In the meantime she would discover the rest of her; she found new and exciting things about her body. Her skin was the color of her favorite food, molasses. Like her skin her hair was black and shiny, long and unending. For a girl her age she was quite tall. Her eyes so brown and evenly set into an oval-shaped face that lent itself greatly to her beauty. After all, she was blessed by the sun.
She would lay in the sun everyday for hours. Its closeness brought her peace and made her feel alive and connected to this place. She called it Father. It spoke to her only and no one else heard them; their language was misunderstood. Janice was amused and the rest would laugh and say things like “That one, she crazy, don’t know why she layin’ in the sun like dat” The women on the island observed Irene with curious wonder as they scurried past her collecting water from the river to wash, cook, etcetera. She paid them no mind, Irene was too beautiful to care, besides, her and Father were busy planning her future.
At night when Father was away, Irene would take stock of the rest of the island and its inhabitants. It was an alluring place that existed somewhere between Venezuela and Martinique. Gone were the days of European rule, now she and the others could roam freely. No chains and shackles and clogged imaginations to weigh them down, no screams to wake then at night, no cane fields to toil in by day. Just peace. As glorious as the day was, the night was full of mystery. Irene was a child approaching womanhood and so the night held wonders she was yet to understand.
It seemed during the day, there was no one around but her, Father, and Janice. Irene loved Janice, and had grown accustomed to her strange looking feet. But night absorbed the child; she could not look into the water and see her beauty then or talk to Father. She could see everything else. At night, large balls of fire scorched the sky, left and right they flew, telling no one where they were headed. They had faces by day but she could not recognize them by night; they dwelled in the bushes when father was around, exiled from the rest of the population, Irene never knew why, much less who the beings were and Janice refused to get into it. All she knew was that Janice and her wagging finger had instructed her put salt around the house every night for protection. It was her obligation.