The Great Sea

I’ve never crossed the Great Sea. The thought is peculiar in itself but it carries sorrow with it. If things were different, I would never have even thought about this. Why would I? My home is there, in the North. The South disgusts me. The people are soft, the smell of weak characteristics linger on them as I pass them by.

But I need to be here. You need me.

You. I need to help you.

“Where are you going, stranger?”

It takes a moment to realize someone is aiming their pointless, worthless words at me. With my brows slightly furrowed I turn to see who did it. Not because I have any desire to answer, just to see who would disturb me.

It’s an ordinary woman, probably looking for a friend. Or a ‘friend’. She’s smiling, awaiting for my answer that she will never receive.

The smile doesn’t last for long.

She starts to squirm under my gaze but it does nothing to inspire an answer from me. She starts self-soothing gestures, rubbing her neck, biting her lip. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.” Finally she almost runs away, stumbling on her feet and nearly landing on her face.

I turn back to look at the Sea. It’s the only thing separating me from you.

Then, it’s time to dock.

My feet finally feel the foreign land beneath them. With my nose dull with the smell of fish and salt, I gaze at the Great Sea, now hiding my home behind its masses of water. A flicker of grief tries to ignite my heart but I quickly refocus my gaze to the unknown line of trees. The laughter of seagulls follows me as I start to make my way towards the forest, ignoring the buzzling town.

There’s always a home in the forest.

But before I can reach the forest line, a shout reaches me first: “Hey you!” The sound is rough, coarse in its tone, like they’ve had too much beer and wine and they need money for more.

A disgusted sigh escapes me; I didn’t even try to stop it from fleeing my lips. One thing is always the same: brutes preying on the weak. Sometimes, however, the brutes make mistakes. That usually costs them everything. I close my eyes and try to find a trace of generosity within me. There’s none. The fact that I even bothered to try is evidence enough of my benevolent soul. There’s only one way this will end.

“Give me yer money.” His fingers dig deep into my shoulder. The fingers alone smell of filth and decay, of rotten morals and abhorrent character. A shudder runs through me.

“Off with you.”

“Why would I listen to a little cockroach like–”

He falls silent before hastily letting me go, almost shoving me away from him. I keep walking.

Screams of agony follow me.

The road to you is long. Your life is in danger.

I need to hurry.