The heart goes where the head takes it, and neither cares much about the whereabouts of the feet.

  I woke up with cold sweat, hands trembling, today. They were back again, the nightmares. Back stronger and much more vivid. And like the devil, I lashed out on one of Barboza's men. The man was just there to make sure I was ready for the day. Just to wake me up. But I did what I did, and I regret it. It was stupid for a gentleman should not do such a thing. But he had this look on him that made your skin crawl, deathly thin and gaunt with a smile that almost tore his cheek into slits. I don't know why but it made me angry. Maybe because he reminded me of Death.

  Anger. They say there's a fine line between insanity and anger. Perhaps, I'm crossing it? Maybe I'm losing my grip on reality? Or perhaps he deserved it for being so callous. Can't a man have a peaceful sleep? Can I not get what I want after days of sleepless nights? The days come and go so fast here on the archipelago. Many things happened. Some good... some bad. Some never to be spoken of. I hope all this leads to something worthwhile. I've been spending time on the lower decks too, mingling with the men.

  Some times sharing stories other times hearing drunk talk. You really do learn a lot from talking and listening. Lest I forget there's gossip there too, a past time we should all accommodate in my opinion. From what I hear from the crew down below the Captain General will do what he promised. I guess I was wrong to think he was just leading them on. I don't even think it's worth it though. Admirable but not worthwhile. He's planning on paying the pirate, Kalipulako, a nasty visit. How nasty? I don't know. That was probably why the native Rajah wants to talk to him, to coordinate, to scheme against the crafty bandit they were up against. Kalipulako. I don't know if he'll live up to his reputation or not. All I know is that no bamboo spear could stand against a lead bullet coming from a musket. Nor against a cannon ball the size of a man's head. No it wouldn't.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The sky seemed to sympathize with my mood today, gray as a slab of gravestone. Not a star twinkling back. The southern winds seem to be picking up speed too as every hour passed by. I think there's a storm coming. I think it's going to be the nastiest one we'll ever face. Or maybe not. I still don't know how these things go. I've been thinking about the dreams. The nightmares. There's something about them that I never noticed before. No matter how they start. Wherever they pick up. They always end with me full of rage, the kind that burdens your soul. As though it clung upon it, eating it up and chewing it into gruel. And like always, with no sign or premonition, it ends in a bone shattering feeling like being shot through a cannon.

  And then I wake up, parched and drowning in my sweat. Like always. Perhaps, this means something? Or maybe I'm just over thinking...

  ---from Antonio Pigafetta's Personal Journal