A huge boat with white sails appeared at the shore. I crouched silently in some bushes nearby with my mother and father. Soon a formidable looking man walked off of the boat, his face hidden by the shade of a large hat. I gasped. He was one of the white men our people talked about. I had never seen anybody other than our people before. After a few minutes of speaking with our chief, Jaidev, they both started to yell.

The strange man finally said yelled a language strange to my ears to the boat. A few moments' later men wearing all red billowed off the ship with strange long thin things. I thought it was some sort of peace offering from them until one made a very loud sound and our chief fell to the sand, blood pouring from his skull.

My mother picked me up with a horrified scream. I could not see her face. I sensed my father close behind as we ran through the scattered trees of our home island. Tears started rolling down my cheeks. I heard many more loud sharp noises as before, feeling terror in every fiber of my being. Suddenly my mother tripped, and we both fell. My head hit the ground hard, and I awoke with a jolt.

My face was all sweaty, and I really did have tears rolling down my cheeks. I shakily got out of bed and walked to the bathroom.

When I got there I was still breathing hard. I looked into the mirror at my sweaty, tear stricken face. My name is Kriti, and I am fourteen years old now. In our language, Kriti means 'A work of art.' My mother named me that soon after I was born, because she thought I was beautiful. My reflection showed clear bronze skin, brown almond shaped eyes, and a thin mouth. My hair is straight black, going down to my navel level.

I was indeed beautiful, although not at the moment. That was the recurring dream I have of my parent's death, or capture when I was four. I never found out what happened to them. I remember clear as day. After hitting my head on the ground, I lost consciousness for the rest of the night, waking at sunrise. I wandered our village for hours, calling out names. Fortunately, the white men's boat left an oar to their boat. I held on to it with my arms and kicked with my legs all the way to another island we often traded goods with a few miles east of our own.

When I arrived I was exhausted, so much so that I couldn't speak. I slept for the rest of the day, and halfway through the night. I woke that night screaming. Luckily the people are very kind and recognized me from our village, and took care of me until I was ten, when the white men returned to their island, this time coming peacefully. Actually, they came for me.