The brig is musty, and rotten. It's dull except for torches on the walls. At night, it's the scene for a ghost story. My feet and arms shuffle around, achingly in their shackles. It's going to be a long night, comfort wasn't meant to exist down here. I just lie awake, staring into blackness.
The stone is cold through my shirt and hard. My bruises are soar and my back feels like hell. I hold my head in my arms to cushion it. I exhale slowly and close my eyes, but I don't try to sleep. I just picture memories, bad ones: My dad and Laiwa. and good ones: like Hurley, and the wind, when my father would take breaks and I would sometimes get to steer, the salty smell of the ocean, and the lingering mystery of Ness. I can just pretend that everything is perfect. That I'm the person Hurley thought I was, who I want to be.
I stay awake for hours, staring at a sliver of blue moonlight. I lay uncomfortably. Maybe me and my own pretty boat, and the ocean just weren't meant to happen. How did I get myself into this bind? I know how. It came from stupid, proud, rash decisions. A mock bravery. I'm in a bird in a cage, and this time there's no way out.
Eventually, sleep grasps me, and I fall in to a fitful nightmare.
YOU ARE READING
Quest of Freedom Sails
JugendliteraturBut if you do focus on what I want, what I want more than anything, I want to get off this hell hole, and finally, really, get to live. Because the way I see it, I've just but barely had a chance to yet.- Ness (story of a servant girl and the son of...
