To my eldest and dearest sister,
Forgive me for my silence. There has been nothing to say. If you saw me now, you would hardly recognise the shell of a man standing before you. With every whale that dies at my bastard hands, I willingly give a piece of myself to Hell.
At night I stand in the waves, listening to the sea and to the snores of twenty exhausted men, and I feel as though I am being watched. The eyes of the ocean are upon me, and they scorn me. Perhaps it is my guilty conscience, or the fact that I have not slept sufficiently in months, but sometimes I imagine a large fish with golden scales drifting some metres offshore, singing, cresting, then diving below the waves once more. If it is real, I hope it is the one that finally drags me from the whaleboat and to my benthic grave.
Do not tell Mother. She will only worry.
Yours,
D—
YOU ARE READING
In A Sea of Shadows
Historical Fiction4th March 1832 To my eldest and dearest sister, I have been in New Zealand for over a year, and in that time over one hundred whales have died at my hands. I want to believe that I have grown numb to this reality, but in truth I still hear their son...
