Do These Glasses Make Me Look Smarter?

The hut was stifling. Sweat dripped down my back. Still the natives paraded their woes before me like peasants before a King. At least I was in the shade and still alive. The cannibals on this island eat anything that is not useful, or more useful as food.

It was the glasses. I'm not sure how they had acquired this western stigma, but glasses meant wise. Perhaps a long gone missionary who had helped them decipher their dreams for their benefit wore a pair.

As the sun set they had a feast and a dance. I cooled in the evening sea breeze, slipping off for a swim. When I had reached the middle of the lagoon, a flash caught my eye. A little monkey had stolen my glasses and swung high into the palms before I could cry out.

Panic set in and I made for shore and dressed hastily in my loincloth. I climbed high, but there was no sign of the beast.

The next day, the villager's shock gave way to anger when I greeted them squinty-eyed. Maybe I could ask to be sent adrift at sea on a boat? The chief frowned.