One day the man come down an' tell me to get into this box. I do, ask him why. He says he gets me off that way. I wonder if I can trust him, but do I have a choice? I got this far. Can't stop now. I get in and he closes the lid. I sit in the dark, feeling someone moving it around, my knees drew to my chest. Light stream in through the cracks in thee crate, and the box stop movin. The lid open, an' I see the man's face again. "We're here." he says, "You can come out." I crawl from the box, an' feel sunlight on my face for the first time in a week. I glance round, but we ain't in England. Wes on the deck to the ship, an' all these men be round us. One o' them walks toward. "Well, well well. If it ain't a little stowaway. Where do you come from? A runaway slave are you?" I wonder if I should lie, but I end up noddin'. He snicker an' pull out a gun. "No, please, please sir..." I says, an' I hear a loud noise an' a sharp pain in my chest. I look down, and blood comin out. I hold it, but the red liquid seeps between my fingers. I look at the man I thought were tryin to help me. He jus stands there. I realize I goin' to die here. I never'll get to see England. I crumple to the floor as evr'ything go black.