Revolutions

64 - Legido

896.

That's the number of stars you approximate you've counted since beginning your shift for the night watch. Or, at least, since boredom nudged you into this celestial tally. The passage of time feels like an eternity, and you've lost track of when you last heard the bell chime, which roughly signals the top of the hour.

1,127 times you've heard the sound of the waves crashing into the side of the ship. The storm continues off in the far distance, with lightning that occasionally flashes among the ominously dark clouds. Yet you're not worried; the ship is skillfully navigated well clear of the tempest, keeping the severe weather to your right—or, rather, the ship's starboard.

19 times you've heard someone speak of their spouse, mostly to grumble or make crude remarks.

Six times you've heard someone speak of their mistress.

28 people have shared stories of their hometowns, rich in nostalgia and longing for places they may never see again.

There were two instances where a scuffle nearly broke out, though they were stopped before it came to blows.

31 jokes have been told, few managing to bring a smile to your face.

Four people have confessed an aversion to seafood. An amusing predicament given the circumstances, and you're not sure how they'll fare during this long voyage.

Twelve people sought someplace they deemed isolated, unaware of your presence hovering above in the crow's nest, and sob privately to themselves. Five of them have stood at the rail and contemplated jumping overboard, unable to handle the journey's length, or being separated from their family, or dreading what lies ahead. You wished you could climb down to comfort them, but feared the repercussions for leaving your post. So you stayed put and said a silent prayer for them.

The bell sounds, mercifully, for the second time of your shift, providing a brief and welcomed interruption to your thoughts. Six more to go, you remind yourself, trying to shake off the monotony and the feeling of isolation.

Your eyes search the horizon—now a practiced routine—but your thoughts are adrift in the sea of contemplation. Your mind wanders to your family, wondering how they're getting along without you. If they even notice or care. You start to think they only view you as a free laborer, someone whose sole purpose is to work on the farm. The argument with your aita before you ultimately departed rings clearly through your memory. The disappointment in your ama's eyes, the disgust. Why couldn't they just hear what you were trying to tell them, that there's a better life awaiting you all if they would just join you on this journey? Perhaps you're better off without them, being the only one who can see the clear signs of what's to come if everyone remains in Legido.

But then you push those thoughts from your mind, choosing instead to remember the happier times shared with your loved ones. Your ama's warm smile as she sang your favorite hymns. Your aita's firm and comforting embrace every night before bed. You even think fondly of Afonzo, missing his sarcastic remarks and how you'd lose yourselves in imaginative play by the creek when you were young children. You think of all the laughter that cut through the melancholy and helped your family cope. The drought caused much hardship for everyone in Legido, not just your family, yet you all persevered and made the best of what little you had.

You ponder the risks and rewards of this journey. The promise of adventure and discovery had beckoned you away from the familiar, yet the peril of the unknown looms large. You wonder if the stories of far-off lands and treasures are true, or just fanciful tales told by seasoned sailors to wide-eyed novices like yourself. The thrill of potentially unveiling mysteries of uncharted territories is tinged with a thread of fear—of storms, of getting lost, or worse, finding what you're not prepared to face.