How to Survive in a World of Mortals and Mayhem

In the eons of time and space, many say all things are not only possible but expected and maybe foreseen. I am Captain Wayne Wainwright of the 2nd Regiment of the York Militia; I was born in 1765. I was born the seventh son of a seventh son. The first time I died was at the Battle of Queenstown on October 13th, 1812. I have lived many secret lives and some not so secret amongst the morals. This is my story and maybe the story of other immortals as well. Read the lessons I list in this volume and take them to heart.

Immortals have been living with morals since the very beginning of time itself. For the most part, we immortals tend to remain in the shadows and keep ourselves separate from everyday human lives. We come from both the rich and the poor in society; we have various skills, passions, and desires. We are both male and female, every race, colour, and creed; we practice many faiths and have loved and been loved.

I want to say that I have been a noble character, but that would be a lie. I have betrayed both immortals and mortals alike and been judged according to my actions. At times, I have been a scoundrel, a drunken fool, a liar, a thief and worse, a traitor. One of the portraits of the Battle of Queenstown shows a soldier reaching out to a fallen Major General Brock; the truth was it may have been me in this portrait. I reached out to him, but I wanted to nick his pocket watch. An American musket ball struck me near the heart as I reached over and collapsed. At least my old mom thought I died some saint.

I have watched with amusement a few times as morals portrayed immortals as being of royal or noble descent. I also enjoyed how some television videos portray immortals as being on quests or great missions. I must tell you that none of that is true in reading this. We immortals rarely hunt each other; we are not on quests to cut each other’s heads off, drink each other’s blood or wander the streets at night looking for victims. Well, at least not officially anyway, Vampires and Zombies occasionally give immortals a bad rap, and I will not even go into some of the mystical creatures that really exist.

The first time; I awoke from being dead, I found myself in a small log building a mile or so from the battle site. I had a pence on each eye. It appears I might have soiled myself when the Yankee shot me. I must confess to this day; I blame that on old lady Madame Pearl, who provided a slice of salt pork and gravy meal to me the night before. (Yes, maybe too much detail) .

I suspected I had not only been wounded but killed; my first clue was the coins on my eyes, my purse was missing, and my sword was gone. The final clue was as I stood up, a young Militiaman named Pete McGovern wandered into the building; he shrieked and pointed at me. “Your DEAD. I carried you here myself!” His eyes looked goofy, and he collapsed. I quickly looked through my pockets, retrieved my purse and took the two shillings in his pants.

When one discovers they are dead but still walking around, they quickly learn to avoid those they knew of your death. A priest shouted, “Satan stand behind me!” as he tossed water toward me just outside the building. A young militiaman fired in my direction; I learned my first lesson.

#1) When you die, avoid the Morals that last saw you alive or knew of your death.

I would move around the Americans and Upper Canada in a daze in the next few weeks. The British and Canadian volunteers would prevail at Queenstown and drive the American forces back. I made meagre living playing cards and, for a price, sold information to both sides of the conflict. True, most of the information I sold to each side I created myself, but neither side paid particularly well. This would lead to my second lesson.

#2) Firing squads and public hangings can hurt.

(Note - If your head comes off or your brain is squished, you are dead forever.)

The Americans executed me as a spy on September 12th, 1813, after the Battle of Lake Eerie. A young boy had seen me talking in a hidden cove with two Englishmen earlier. Little did the Americans know the information I sold the British was so bad it might have led to the defeat they would suffer a week later.

The Americans left my body on display overnight. When left on display, you tend to get spat on and have filth thrown at you constantly. I wigged my way to freedom about four in the morning and fled toward the British Lines. I would borrow different clothing and swim in a creek along the way.

When reaching Upper Canada, I encountered a patrol that led to my execution at the hands of the British on September 20th, 1813, as a spy and traitor to the English crown. I truly must admit September 1813 was not a great month for me. I thought things had to look up after being executed twice in one month and pistol-whipped for cheating at cards.

On September 29th, while travelling near Boston, I discovered September could get much worse. I would have a potato sack tossed over my head and be placed in a Slaver full of contraband cotton. I found myself on deck, four people in various styles of uniforms and dresses sitting before me with a small desk in front of them.

A lady dressed more like a pirate than a lady in standing stood up and addressed me first. “I am Cecilia, and I was born Roman in the in 2 AD on the island of Corsica. I have been a member of the Council of Elders for over three hundred of your years.” She moved toward his chair, “You have died four times in one year, not well done, not well done.”

She looked into my eyes like I was some form of lower life that she, unfortunately, had to meet. She moved with authority and purpose and gave the appearance of wisdom and power. She walked around my chair without speaking again.

“I am Captain Wayne Wainwright of the 2nd Regiment of the York Militia; what is happening here!” I said, sounding like I knew who and what I was.

“Silence, DOG!” erupted from a man in a Napoleonic French Major’s uniform, "a captain in the Militia.” He stood up with such force he nearly knocked the table over. “It is bad enough when snivelling cowards buy their ranks, but you, sir; card cheated your way to the rank of a captain in the militia.”

I looked around and held my arms up, “I did not ask to be here; the rank was to make my family proud of their seventh son.”

After a further tongue lashing by several others, I was eventually released on a small island off the coast of Africa. It learned quickly that this little postage stamp of an island was a favourite spot of the “Council of Elders” to maroon various life forms. This is where I learned lesson three.

#3) Creepy Crawls do exist.

Yes, there are vampires, zombies, hags of every sort, and some nasty-smelling human immortals. The first night I briefly encountered a well-dressed gentleman named “Michal Merik; it was a polite conversation for about a minute till someone bellowed, “Vampire!”

I escaped into the ruins of an old wooden church structure. I spent the night near a fellow the Council had sent to the island three months before me. After consuming some questionable liquor, he confessed to being a Werewolf. He told me his name was “Boris Zeeba.” In his earlier life, he was a Russian Soldier.

Three days later, I managed to win a small flat-bottomed boat in a card game and floated away from this paradise. Twelve days later, a British Frigate picked me up, and I was back in the service of George III.

While on the frigate, I would learn lesson number four, which was an important one.

#4) Immortals do not grow back limbs!

On the third night on the ship, I realized another immortal was on the ship. He was also a deckhand and appeared to be Liverpool originally. Blake was his name, and he and I were amazed at how well immortals could spot each other even in a crowd. It seems one night, while on a dare, Blake broke into the Captain’s Quarters and stole some articles. He was caught, and punishment was set, but Blake got free and jumped off the ship's side.

Now being immortal, I guess the poor lad thought he would awake on one of the nearby Caribbean Islands if he drowned. Except a shark took part of his foot and ankle away. Blake was hauled back into the ship; the ship’s surgeon was sober enough to burn the injury. Blake shuffled on one foot and a peg for the other. They flogged him for his theft attempt, and he would move slowly around the deck till one day he disappeared.

Last I saw Blake; he was still limping through a plantation he owned in Jamaica.

I wish to share one truth: films, novels, and articles have corrected all immortal beings. This will be my lesson number five; it is important to remember as it can save an immortal being and has been my salvation on more than twenty occasions.

#5) Holy Ground is Sacred, no killing, raping, no violence of any sort.

(This Might be the only thing that television shows and Hollywood ever got right!)

This lesson applies to all creatures under heaven and hell and is respected by everyone, including most Zombies and Dragons.

Becoming an immortal is difficult. Learning the rules of our community can be daunting. The Council of Elders has required me to provide at least twenty helpful lessons. I hope these first five lessons are helpful to you. The next volume will be created shortly after I have finished a card game with a former Rock Legend and a Dead USA President.

Bonus Hint for you all, never use real original names if you can help it.

******** Mortals are not completely stupid. *********

Special Note to the reader, you only have a few minutes after you start reading this document to dispose of it. It is enchanted and will either fade away or sometimes it just implodes or explodes. Please do not stick it in your pocket or handbag.

Prepared under Council Order in the Year of Our Lord Nineteenhunred and Eighty-Nine.

Author's Notes

Thank you for reading the Second in my series that deals with the challenges of becoming Immortal! This short story will also appear on Medium.com. Please follow this saga and consider subscribing. No real immortals are portrayed in these writing, and similarities are by pure chance.