" This story is based on an imaginative story of the legendary US President, 'Abraham Lincoln'. No part in this story is fictional in any way. The writer has written a sub-content of the President's youth, for racial purposes. Meaning, to represent the spirit of mankind. Does not reside in the hearts of many. And, where people should not be set different, because of the mere color of the skin. But for the hearts that represent the person as who they are. And that, the purpose of blind Faith and Hope. Is real in its words, even though it is unseen and untouched and denied amongst manyTwo words which seem similar, but are different through the heart. "

Lincoln pressed hard against his chest, as his arms and the wooden-long paddle worked there way through the water. At each push and pull. His heart ached for rest. But he knew he had to finish what he started.

Horns and yells bellowed through the air. A quick glance up, he saw he had already reached the city of his destination. He continued to paddle, closer and closer to the docks of the roaring city. Boats as big as steamboats paddled and rowed their way through the river. Fishing boats of grand and small sizes docked at ports. Fisherman threw boxes and setting nets of fish, onto the wooden floorboard. The smell of the fresh fish of the day dangled through the air. Musting everything in its path.

Muscles in his arms cramped and gnawed on his bones. Rest was what his body needed, but he was almost done. He let the raft drift, following the steady streams of the river. His eyes narrowed and focused on any empty port to strap his raft too. The Sun's mighty rays shot him in the back. Cooking him lively. Sweat dangled from his face, coating his face with dirt that layered him. A week on the river was harder than Lincoln imagined. He couldn't resist his smell of ghastly body odors and heavy whiskey that stung him like a skunk. But what made him feel more inedible to get off his raft was his stomach, who scowled at him all day for torturing his body by not giving it any food.

His eyes laid on a golden brown prize awaiting him. He raised his arms up. Gripped harder than ever on the long paddle, and away his arms swung fighting against the river's strong currents. Cutting and rising the paddle each time with smooth edging strokes. The raft picked up speed promptly. And, several feet away, he was, from the thick log on the dock floor. His heart raced away, as he paddled faster. The distance between the raft and dock shortened. Eight feet. Five feet.

Bump! Scrrriptch!

A small wooden fishing boat crashed its bow into the right side of the raft. Lincoln's feet responded to the fracture of impulse, by gliding through the air. His worn out back landed hard on the raft's small floor. Blisters exploded, scratches grew, and bruises reformed to a dark purple. He lay on his back screaming in pain. His teeth gritted, as his body and mind fought to secure the pain. Hits of steamy air sucked into his lungs. Cooking his insides warmly. The raft tipped to the left, with Lincoln's weight piling on. Bubbles popped lightly near Lincoln's ear. His eyes darted to a small crack in the boat. Bubbles continued to pop. But, something caused Lincoln's blood to race to his heart. An eye so black stared back at him. It wasn't a regular eye. Nor was it a fish's. It was a human.

One of the man from the small fishing boat stepped onto the small raft. The raft swayed back and forth as it tried to regain balance. Slowly, the man approached Lincoln.

Lincoln heaved in breath after breath. He sat up straight, facing the man and said, "I am fine, sir. Thanks for your consideration. My back just pains me. Been sleeping on the forest floor and trees for a while, now."

The man looked down at Lincoln. His face showed worry. But, Lincoln showed the man he was alright, by standing up quickly. His teeth gritted, as he tried to endure the pain. He glanced at his raft, making sure it didn't sink as he got off from it. Miraculously, it still floated. A loosen leather strap was the only thing Lincoln could make out. But, that was already loose a while back from when he was fishing. He sighed as he tried to memorize leather in his mind. But all that echoed back to him was nothing but a dazing headache and a need for sleep.  

The man slammed his hand on Lincoln's back. A tear shed from Lincoln's eye, but still, he held the pain.  The man stood there, for a few minutes, studying the young man's face. A smile cracked through Lincoln's sunburned skin. The man smiled back. And said, "Alright, laddy. If ye say so." A thick Irish accent flowed from his mouth. And, off he went without a second glimpse back at the boy.

One of the other fisherman laughed at Lincoln and yelled, "CAREFYL boy! There are fish in these waters that have eyes like a human, and teeth so sharp, they rip you into shreds." The man laughed evily at the end, showing his dark, yellow-musty teeth that glowed of death in his mouth.

The same man, who helped Lincoln, yelled at the yellow-teeth man, "Stop Marvin, scaring the shells out of the boy." The man turned to Lincoln, "Sorry laddy, he enjoys making bad jokes to young wanderers like you. Nothing in the water but, fishes about my arm's length. But don't worry they do not bite. Although, their eyes do have a strong resemblance of a human's."

Lincoln smiled again at the Irish man.

They both gestured goodbye and went to go their separate ways.

The boat and the raft eagerly un-clinged themselves to each other and drifted to where their owners cursed them too.

Lincoln pushed hard down into the water and the paddle crashed thickly into the river's muddy bed. Electrifying pain zapped into, Lincoln's arm sterilizing his muscles. He almost collapsed but the little strength he had in him blew in steam to reassure his balance, and carried his body upon his legs as he gripped the paddle for support. A shadow lay heaving over Lincoln's body and the boy glanced up to see a man standing close to him on the dock.

He yelled over to Lincoln, "C'mere boy! Tie your little raft here."

Lincoln followed to where his voice instructed. Rope in hand, he carried himself onto the wooden floor of the dock and sat resting for a few minutes. He gave the rope to the man, who took it and wrapped it around the post. Lincoln thanked him and gave him a couple of half-cent coins.

The boy then departed the dock and came into a very busy street. People of all sizes and colors filled the street. It was quite an impressive sight, for young Lincoln. He looked at a sign up high on a pole. It read Merchandise Left, Animal Stables ahead, dock behind, and a slave auction houses to the left. Lincoln, followed as the arrow said, towards the Merchandise. He walked for a few minutes engaging with all the sceneries he passed by.

Stores of toys filled with little kids grasping and looking at the precious stuffed beings of dolls and animals. Food and bakeries filled the city street with an enriching aroma of sweet, buttery, and salty savors. The closest bakery was on his left. He entered inside where the smell of freshly baked bread lay cooking. A young female approached the boy with a smile and asked what he wanted. Lincoln responded with a corn-flatbread. He paid a penny and left wolfing down on the bread, as he continued to admire the small city. Fish markets and shops shouted and yelled in different languages. Men laughing and dancing in bars and streets, crying with their yelps of drunken habits. A man with a bell walked steadily through the street, calling out the news of the day.

The city was more than alive, it was as if a holiday sparked their souls. The energy of the people around him excited him so much that a wide smile spread with joy. Awhile, it has been for him to see happiness in everyone's eyes and faces.

Lincoln's eyes kept carrying him across the town, till his eyes met with a sign with big red words. Words he had been memorizing the whole trip: Gary's Merchandise. 'Go to Garry's Merchandise and Stock. There you will find a man, who will tell you where you ought to head next. Tell him, Master Fender sent me.' Repeated the words of Master Salem Joky in his mind, one last time. 

He hesitated and headed towards the door and entered. A wave of spices and dried food stung Lincoln's nose, warming and tickling it at the same time. It reminded him of his mother and their cabin. Oh, how he missed the days he was younger at in life.

The place was dark. The only light, shined from the black stained windows behind him. Shadows and brief reflections touched Lincoln's eyes. Unraveling what the store contained. He walked around marveling at the different ingredients and equipment. The floorboards creaked as he moved. Whispers from inside the shop chanted. Lincoln narrowed his eyes, trying to maximize the most of the light that was able to reach his eyes. But, yet he failed to see what was beyond the dark.

Footsteps sounded from deep within. Lincoln held still and waited. The sound of a soft door opened and an etching voice spoke from behind it, "We're closed boy. Go to another shop. They may have what you're looking for."

Lincoln could barely see the man. But from what he sketched in his mind. He was old with long hair. He wore clothes of a true merchant who seemed to come home recently from a grand voyage from a rich European city.

Lincoln answered, "Are you, Garry Light."

The man didn't answer and said, "Yes, I am. What do you want?"

"Master Salem Joky sent me, sir."

"Did you say Joky?"

"Yes, sir. I did indeed."

"Ah, well. I thought he wasn't sending any more waifs." The man stood there studying Lincoln in the dark of the store. Eyebrows raised the old man scratched his hairy chin.

Before the conversation could continue any further. A man in black entered the shop. He walked until he reached the head table of the store, and said, "Well, thank you, Garry, for your inconvenient order. But I must be on my way. Things to do --more important." He muttered as he glared at Lincoln dauntly, as he began leaving the shop.

The old shopkeeper paused and said, "Wait, wait ye old scum. Salem sent another waif here. We got ourselves a deal. Is it there."

The mysterious man glanced at the man illy. He replied in a cold and sharp tone, " It is a she. And she has been there since yesterday." The shadow of the man hovered greater and greater over the shopkeeper and Lincoln, with each word spoken.

"Alright, alright. You don't need to get all spooky and all with me. Jacky! Come out here!"

A young slave boy came out from behind. His clothes and body stained with filth from hard labor. He ran up to the old man and waited for orders.

"This here is Jacky-eh. What did you say, your name was boy?" Asked the old man.

Lincoln smiled and said, "Lincoln, Abraham Lincoln, sir."

"Ahh." Replied the old man. "Well, Jacky here, well be with you pointing out to were you need to go." He fished in his pocket and pulled out a folded paper. "This is an official document saying that he is your slave. Keep this safe. Don't lose it." He handed the papers to Lincoln who took it gingerly and placed it deep in his pocket, as a pirate would do with treasure for his heart.

Garry called out again, "Calvin, come out here!" A young man came out from under the counter. The old man then ordered him," Go get my record book, and receipts."

The man nodded dashed inside deep in the shop and came out in a jiffy with candlelight, a big leather book and a smaller leather one. Under the candlelight, the features of the man in the room became clearer. Calvin's yellow stained hair shed his eyes, as he bent and opened the books. On the table next to him were an inkwell and a feather. Where they stood to wait for the man to pick them up and use them.

Garry cleared his throat, giving time for Calvin to get the feather ready to write with, and said, " Today on Friday, August 4, 1825. Sir Welham Devon is sending an Indian gift up along the Mississippi River till the kill point of Wayne. The waif is Abraham Lincoln."

After Garry was done, Calvin brought each of the books to the old man and the other man, indicating them to sign. He came to Lincoln, and he proceeded to do the same.

After everything was done at this point. Garry asked both of the boys to head off to their task. Both of the boys head out and into the busy street.

They kept walking and walking until they reached the dock. Lincoln walked to where he recalled, docking the raft. A big ship resided on the left of where the raft was and hid it from view. But, as Lincoln reached. The raft was not there. . . .