White body, wheels shining, dust flying

White body, wheels shining, dust flying. This is how it began. Sam Blakes new masking of the range saloon pulls into Lunpona, he can see it now, tall factories, vociferous equipment and more money then he dared think of.Only mostthing stood in his way, the people of this dirty, foul, black tribe village. Far removed from his civilized Hesperian world these people lived in near squalor. He thought can to his wife and children in their palatial populaceor house on the outskirts of the city, if he could add this over with quick enough he would be behind there inside a week. This was ingenious instead of importing the forest for his highly successful furniture championship he would harvest natures already enough supply.His aim was to speak to the village elder or some such person, he wasnt all too familiar with this bizarre black man hierarchy obsession. He wanted these village people to become his employees they would do his dirty work, dirty work for these dirty black mot her fuckers, they would cut shovel in the trees, prime them, sort them, and ship them to him, and all for a pittance, it couldnt fail.There was a crew already waiting theyd seen him across the plane some cartridge clip ago. He stepped out of his car, his brand new, apparels messing themselves in the mud that was the until now to be converted base for his idea. He took a cigar from his holder, his movements smooth and graceful.A host of small children had already gathered by his car, inspecting every nook. A tall, old man, with a wizened face, and mysterious eye approached, before he could speak, Sam launched into his much practiced speechSam Blake, of Blake and Associate. He says gruffly.receive to Lunpona mate, said the Aboriginal, what business brings ya here Sam?Very important business, business that could make a village like yours quite rich. Providing you dont mind a bit of change.Yeah? That so is it bud? The old mans eyes regard over Sam, probing him, seeing into him. Th e chief turns and says something in his native tongue, the crowd parts and goes back to their business.Sam is led into a humpy (shack like building) at the head of the village. As they pass through the village, they walk over a rickety old wooden bridge. Bright wing roughly drawn, markings adorn it, it seems steeped in spiritual history.Sam is completeered a seat, they sit down to talk, an open chivvy to their right blazes away, some form of native coffee or some such drink is brought by a good looking immemorial girl, tall and slender, deep black eyes, full lips, and a mat of thick, black, colossal hair. Blackness forms a harmony of beauty. They talk solidly for a geminate of hours, until Basra (the chief) rose.Wait here. He said as he turned and walked out. briefly he returned, the look on his face said it all.Im sorry Mr. Blake, my people, they do non see common sense in your deal.What You must be kidding me you loggerheaded old black prick You go and tell them again. Thi s will go ahead whether they like it or not. You idiotic wogs should aim some senseHow dare you? Get out of my bloody village now, you ignorant bastardWith this Sam pulled out his gun, he always brought it with him when he came to places like this, he never did trust these types of people. Before he could think in his maddened state, he pointed the gun instantly to the mans chest and loosed a bullet.With a thunderous noise the bullet left the gun, and hit the man in the right side of his chest, he was knocked to the ground. As he struggled for breath, he spoke these lecture that cut through Sam like a razor bladeYou do not realize the full impact of your actions, ignorant egg white men such as you are careless and have no regard. A curse upon you and your operations after my death. Be gone with you. With this his eyes closed and he drew his terminal breath.Sams rage turned to undefiled fear. By now people were arriving from all over the village, he ran. He ran faster then he had ever before, he could feel something move him, not human, not physical. He ran to his car, and fled. On his way back he was shaken, scared, and tired. He stopped off at a hotel, and booked in for the night. Too tired to go for a drink he went straight to bed.All night he tossed and turned, his dreams were plagued by visions of woodarchis. Visions of his own death. He didnt get much sleep that night, tossing, turning, waking every hour or so. In the morning he woke up, washed, and decided to go for his breakfast. As he slipped on his shoe, the mud was still there, clinging, a reminder of the brutality. He took his other shoe in his hands, n tried in vein to brush off the mud. It was useless, something told him he wasnt going to forget this. Just as he was most to put his shoe on he heard the last haggling of Basra, the curse.All of a sudden he felt a suffering on pain in his foot, hed been bitten, he looked down, it was a black widow spider, she crawled from his shoe and up his trouser leg, twice more inflicting her deadly poison. He knew that a bite from such a spider was fatal, but cardinal in quick succession would have you dead inside 20 minutes.Thoughts rushed through his head, where was he? The nearest hospital was 60km away at best, unless the hotel had any antidotes he was in trouble. After get over the initial pain he tried to get up and walk. But he couldnt his leg was swelling and the pain immense. He reached for his phone, and as he dialed the battery failed on him. He could hear the curse again, as if carried on the wind. He cried out for help in desperation. But nobody came.He was move in and out of consciousness. He looked at his watch, it was 45 minutes since hed been bitten. He slipped out of consciousness for the last time. As if by some marvelous force the old mans voice echoed through his headSamuel Blake, it said, you are suffering, not vengeance for my death alone, oh no, but for all the of the wrongs white man has through w ith(p) black man. Your corporate enterprises, and your money-making schemes dont belong in the bush. Keep them to your cities. Have your suburbia and be happy. You keep your civilized lives, and well keep out ancestral traditions. May you learn a lesson with your life.With this he passed. A lesson indeed learnt. And financed by his own life.