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The theme being style, I thought I'd use a different writing style to the one I always use when doing SSC entries. Enjoy.
-------------------------------------
There was a little sailor boy, who’d run away from home. The sea was rough, and so was his life. Beaten by his father from the age of 3, he’d been brought up the hard way. Every night, greeted by the cold, harsh knuckles of his fathers fist. Having to explain it in his paltry excuse for a school the next day was worse. Much worse. There were a set of excuses he’d pluck from. Falling down stairs was a top one. Mugged was another favourite (which would also explain his dirty, ragged clothes), but, no matter how brilliantly worded his reposts seemed to be; there was no hiding from the abuse of his peers.
Bullying was a common occurrence at Roadsway. Nobody was free from it. Even the ones high up the ladder got brought down a peg or two every few months. Nobody slipped under the radar. Most particularly Tom. If ever there was to be trouble, he was there, somehow. He’d be playing one minute and then find himself in the middle of a playground battle the next. Not that anyone seemed to mind. One of his most vivid memories was of Mr. Harrison, his disciplinarian teacher, cheering on his opponent as he took one to the face.
But now he was at sea. All at sea. All at sea with men who he knew very little about, or even cared about. All he knew was that he was away from there. A clean slate, he thought. Nobody with pre-judgements, or with prejudices against him. No debt, no lies to live up to. Just him.
One problem: seasickness. Tom, despite all his athletic skills and physical fitness couldn’t hold a meal inside of him for all his worth on this godforsaken rat trap. Not that he’d want to the lukewarm excuses for meals were hardly appetising to begin with, without having to face another hard day shovelling coals into the furnace. Somehow, though, he’d survived. Survived through the storms, blazing heat and impossible conditions to keep on shovelling.
At nights, when he had time to himself, he’d often think. After taking 10 minutes to appreciate the joy of being able to breathe in a clean breath of air without having soot coat his lungs, he’d wonder where this boat was going. What he was doing here. If he’d live through the night. For someone as young and naïve as Tom, this really didn’t matter. Live for the moment, he thought. Just live.
Whilst Tom survived in his rags, upstairs on the docks, the upper classes strolled, carefree. Their dresses done to perfection by some expensive designer from overseas, hair perfectly placed to look wonderful from every angle and only the most perfect people about their sides to keep them company, it was a far cry from the desperate conditions of below.
Not that it mattered. To Tom, this was all just a dream. The much rumoured places above him were something taken straight from a fairytale. In a world as cruel and unkind as this, it was impossible for a place such as that to exist. No man, woman or child could ever experience anything so pure of pleasure. Clean clothes were a myth, beauty a virtue and happiness a lie made up by parents to keep children happy.
But no matter what his head told him, his heart yearned for this mythical happiness. No matter how much he tried to quash the feeling, to live out life as the machine he was fuelling day in, day out, he failed. There is a light that never goes out. A flame inside the heart that simply cannot be extinguished or washed away with sullen water. This was more than a feeling for Tom. This was a passion. A passion that ignited dreams that went against his usual bodily functions. The sea had awoken him in many different ways.
You see, this was a time of change for Tom. In the awkward stage where a male is far from being a boy but not yet in reach of being a man, the mind is awash with emotions that logically, mathematically should not be there. Adventure, some call it. Tom called them wrong. Insane. Stupid. Animalistic. But, however much he damned them they were still there.
You see, Tom longed for a girl; a woman, let’s say. Since he was old enough to appreciate beauty, he’d always stared into the eyes of young girls, unable to comprehend their beauty. He’d happily stare into the pupils of a beautiful woman for the rest of eternity, if given the chance. Tom was well aware of the rules, however. Look. Admire. But from a distance. Under no circumstances must a commoner, plebeian like yourself confront a woman, especially from an upper class.
When he was young, he was able to shut these thoughts out for a while. Yet now, he’d lost control of himself. The machine he’d designed himself to be only had one mechanism now – to think of girls. Some nights, he’s look out upon the sea. Smelling the fresh sea air (and often needing to empty his stomach), he’d be enticed to sneak from his room out to the railings and simply stare into the vast expanse of nothing. Whenever he looked out upon the sea, his pulse always raced. Although his eyes may deceive him, he always knew that somewhere out there, something extraordinary was happening.
He’d been out a sea for months now – how many, he couldn’t know – the basic education he’d salvaged from education barely let him count past 5, but he knew he’d had a birthday. He could feel it in his bones. His shoulders were broader, his voice, though rarely used, very much deeper. This was the transformation that he’d heard of.
It was time for a release. People like Tom weren’t born to be stuck with the same people and same tasks every day. That’s perhaps why many of them have untimely deaths. Tom often though he could hear the sea calling to him as waves crashed against the boat’s hull. They wanted him to join them. To become one with the water. He held firm, though. There were mufflings in the engine room that we were coming towards land. That soon the hell was to be over.
And sure enough it was. As much as he’d had loved to have put a time and date on it, when he finally reached the promised land, he couldn’t. Tom was never a man (as he was now) for memories. The vague nothingness that was his past life seemed to melt into one with yesterday .If asked, he honestly wouldn’t be able to remember whether or not he had any brothers or sisters. Tom lived for the moment. Which is maybe why he’d survived for so long.
As the boat harboured, Tom snook to the railings once again. Crowds had assembled to welcome the long awaited arrival. Pretty young women scurried off the boat to welcoming men. Although he was far too young for any of them, Tom lusted for them. For the briefest moment, he closed his eyes and dreamt that they were alone.
Then, a few hours later, he was allowed to leave the boat. Given a small collection of coins as a memoir of the journey, Tom watched his co-workers say long goodbyes to each other as he carried his scant collection of lifeless clothes in his sack and trawled away from the sea.
For hours, Tom did nothing be scour the streets. The first thing that he noticed was the kind of children he himself would have been playing with before the boat trip had shrunk – he was now far too tall to interact with any of them. He also noticed that young men were seemingly paying him respect in this new land more than he had gotten back home. Maybe this was a new start.
As night fell, lights attracted him to the city. The buzz of a bar was disturbing and as he peered through the window, but in reality, there was little elsewhere he could go. A new town, a new start. He walked in expecting to be pushed away by the first man that saw him. Surprisingly, as he scanned his eyes across the dense room, no one batted an eyelid. Nervously, he took a seat at the bar, taking out a copper coin from his dirty pocket. He looked up to see a beautiful barmaid staring into his eyes.
Tom was far from experienced with women – indeed, he was a full out amateur by all accounts. But from the first moment he sets eyes upon her, and she upon him, he knew this was it. This was what his heart had been yearning for all those months at sea. The green of her eyes told him all he needed to know. She was the most beautiful woman he would ever know.
He took her up on her offer for ‘something for the night’, drinking the many glasses she pushed his way too. He felt like he was at sea once again – his once steady legs had turned again to jelly and, for some reason, he could now see 2 of his paramour. Slamming down the last of his drinks for the night, she touched his hand, which quickly turned into a grab. Then a pull. He was behind the bar. Walking upstairs. In a room. Her room. She really was the one.
All night, he ravished her, and she him. Though he could barely see straight, he was the king of the world. No matter ho much he gave her, she always wanted more. Despite the puzzled look upon her face, she always screamed for extra. Harder. Faster. He couldn’t remember going to sleep.
He did remember waking up, though. The thumping in his head warned him that something was up. The light seemed different this morning. It’s once subtle rays now seemed rude and abrasive, breaking through Tom’s defences and irritating something of a sore spot in his head.
Then he rolled over. Gone. Where once her perfectly formed bosom had rested was just a blanket. Her naked form was now but a whisper of a memory in hazy memory of Tom’s night. But that didn’t matter. She’d be back. Women are pure and innocent creatures. Or so he’d been taught. Only a woman so totally devoted to a man would submit herself to him. The smile on his face was wiped off as he checked his sack: empty. The coin had disappeared, his battered rags nowhere.
Dressed in the worst of his heavily beaten clothes he wondered downstairs, only to be greeted by a barman and a half empty room of drinkers, ready to repeat last night all over again. All he heard was laughter when he asked where she’d gone and when he’d get his money back. Next thing he knew he was on the street.
For a few weeks, he spent his nights on the beach. The ship was there to keep him company for the first few nights, but after that it had slipped away. He spent his days sitting outside the bar, waiting for her, never succeeding.
He only got the message when he finally saw her again. Rushing to embrace her, she simply pushed him away. Late for work, she remarked – usual rates again tonight. After stopping by the door to explain to Tom, she was whisked inside by a rich looking man who’d grabbed her by the breasts.
The dream was over for Tom. The new life had degenerated into the old one. What he thought had been that mythical ‘love’ had turned out to be a farce – a mistake made by a naïve, drunken man who’d been taken advantage of. Education was wrong – Women weren’t innocent. Women were the devils. Tom’s heart stopped yearning for love a few around that time. His head stopped hurting, his eyes stopped leaking and he could now look a woman in the eye without wanting to slit her throat and dump the body in a river. He got a job in a local factory, finding a place to stay in the slums. Although it wasn’t a happy life, it was a far from the pain he’d suffer at the hands of that temptress.
After a brief dip into the realms of love, Tom was now the well-oiled, emotionless machine he’d always wished to be. And all the better for it.
-------------------------------------
There was a little sailor boy, who’d run away from home. The sea was rough, and so was his life. Beaten by his father from the age of 3, he’d been brought up the hard way. Every night, greeted by the cold, harsh knuckles of his fathers fist. Having to explain it in his paltry excuse for a school the next day was worse. Much worse. There were a set of excuses he’d pluck from. Falling down stairs was a top one. Mugged was another favourite (which would also explain his dirty, ragged clothes), but, no matter how brilliantly worded his reposts seemed to be; there was no hiding from the abuse of his peers.
Bullying was a common occurrence at Roadsway. Nobody was free from it. Even the ones high up the ladder got brought down a peg or two every few months. Nobody slipped under the radar. Most particularly Tom. If ever there was to be trouble, he was there, somehow. He’d be playing one minute and then find himself in the middle of a playground battle the next. Not that anyone seemed to mind. One of his most vivid memories was of Mr. Harrison, his disciplinarian teacher, cheering on his opponent as he took one to the face.
But now he was at sea. All at sea. All at sea with men who he knew very little about, or even cared about. All he knew was that he was away from there. A clean slate, he thought. Nobody with pre-judgements, or with prejudices against him. No debt, no lies to live up to. Just him.
One problem: seasickness. Tom, despite all his athletic skills and physical fitness couldn’t hold a meal inside of him for all his worth on this godforsaken rat trap. Not that he’d want to the lukewarm excuses for meals were hardly appetising to begin with, without having to face another hard day shovelling coals into the furnace. Somehow, though, he’d survived. Survived through the storms, blazing heat and impossible conditions to keep on shovelling.
At nights, when he had time to himself, he’d often think. After taking 10 minutes to appreciate the joy of being able to breathe in a clean breath of air without having soot coat his lungs, he’d wonder where this boat was going. What he was doing here. If he’d live through the night. For someone as young and naïve as Tom, this really didn’t matter. Live for the moment, he thought. Just live.
Whilst Tom survived in his rags, upstairs on the docks, the upper classes strolled, carefree. Their dresses done to perfection by some expensive designer from overseas, hair perfectly placed to look wonderful from every angle and only the most perfect people about their sides to keep them company, it was a far cry from the desperate conditions of below.
Not that it mattered. To Tom, this was all just a dream. The much rumoured places above him were something taken straight from a fairytale. In a world as cruel and unkind as this, it was impossible for a place such as that to exist. No man, woman or child could ever experience anything so pure of pleasure. Clean clothes were a myth, beauty a virtue and happiness a lie made up by parents to keep children happy.
But no matter what his head told him, his heart yearned for this mythical happiness. No matter how much he tried to quash the feeling, to live out life as the machine he was fuelling day in, day out, he failed. There is a light that never goes out. A flame inside the heart that simply cannot be extinguished or washed away with sullen water. This was more than a feeling for Tom. This was a passion. A passion that ignited dreams that went against his usual bodily functions. The sea had awoken him in many different ways.
You see, this was a time of change for Tom. In the awkward stage where a male is far from being a boy but not yet in reach of being a man, the mind is awash with emotions that logically, mathematically should not be there. Adventure, some call it. Tom called them wrong. Insane. Stupid. Animalistic. But, however much he damned them they were still there.
You see, Tom longed for a girl; a woman, let’s say. Since he was old enough to appreciate beauty, he’d always stared into the eyes of young girls, unable to comprehend their beauty. He’d happily stare into the pupils of a beautiful woman for the rest of eternity, if given the chance. Tom was well aware of the rules, however. Look. Admire. But from a distance. Under no circumstances must a commoner, plebeian like yourself confront a woman, especially from an upper class.
When he was young, he was able to shut these thoughts out for a while. Yet now, he’d lost control of himself. The machine he’d designed himself to be only had one mechanism now – to think of girls. Some nights, he’s look out upon the sea. Smelling the fresh sea air (and often needing to empty his stomach), he’d be enticed to sneak from his room out to the railings and simply stare into the vast expanse of nothing. Whenever he looked out upon the sea, his pulse always raced. Although his eyes may deceive him, he always knew that somewhere out there, something extraordinary was happening.
He’d been out a sea for months now – how many, he couldn’t know – the basic education he’d salvaged from education barely let him count past 5, but he knew he’d had a birthday. He could feel it in his bones. His shoulders were broader, his voice, though rarely used, very much deeper. This was the transformation that he’d heard of.
It was time for a release. People like Tom weren’t born to be stuck with the same people and same tasks every day. That’s perhaps why many of them have untimely deaths. Tom often though he could hear the sea calling to him as waves crashed against the boat’s hull. They wanted him to join them. To become one with the water. He held firm, though. There were mufflings in the engine room that we were coming towards land. That soon the hell was to be over.
And sure enough it was. As much as he’d had loved to have put a time and date on it, when he finally reached the promised land, he couldn’t. Tom was never a man (as he was now) for memories. The vague nothingness that was his past life seemed to melt into one with yesterday .If asked, he honestly wouldn’t be able to remember whether or not he had any brothers or sisters. Tom lived for the moment. Which is maybe why he’d survived for so long.
As the boat harboured, Tom snook to the railings once again. Crowds had assembled to welcome the long awaited arrival. Pretty young women scurried off the boat to welcoming men. Although he was far too young for any of them, Tom lusted for them. For the briefest moment, he closed his eyes and dreamt that they were alone.
Then, a few hours later, he was allowed to leave the boat. Given a small collection of coins as a memoir of the journey, Tom watched his co-workers say long goodbyes to each other as he carried his scant collection of lifeless clothes in his sack and trawled away from the sea.
For hours, Tom did nothing be scour the streets. The first thing that he noticed was the kind of children he himself would have been playing with before the boat trip had shrunk – he was now far too tall to interact with any of them. He also noticed that young men were seemingly paying him respect in this new land more than he had gotten back home. Maybe this was a new start.
As night fell, lights attracted him to the city. The buzz of a bar was disturbing and as he peered through the window, but in reality, there was little elsewhere he could go. A new town, a new start. He walked in expecting to be pushed away by the first man that saw him. Surprisingly, as he scanned his eyes across the dense room, no one batted an eyelid. Nervously, he took a seat at the bar, taking out a copper coin from his dirty pocket. He looked up to see a beautiful barmaid staring into his eyes.
Tom was far from experienced with women – indeed, he was a full out amateur by all accounts. But from the first moment he sets eyes upon her, and she upon him, he knew this was it. This was what his heart had been yearning for all those months at sea. The green of her eyes told him all he needed to know. She was the most beautiful woman he would ever know.
He took her up on her offer for ‘something for the night’, drinking the many glasses she pushed his way too. He felt like he was at sea once again – his once steady legs had turned again to jelly and, for some reason, he could now see 2 of his paramour. Slamming down the last of his drinks for the night, she touched his hand, which quickly turned into a grab. Then a pull. He was behind the bar. Walking upstairs. In a room. Her room. She really was the one.
All night, he ravished her, and she him. Though he could barely see straight, he was the king of the world. No matter ho much he gave her, she always wanted more. Despite the puzzled look upon her face, she always screamed for extra. Harder. Faster. He couldn’t remember going to sleep.
He did remember waking up, though. The thumping in his head warned him that something was up. The light seemed different this morning. It’s once subtle rays now seemed rude and abrasive, breaking through Tom’s defences and irritating something of a sore spot in his head.
Then he rolled over. Gone. Where once her perfectly formed bosom had rested was just a blanket. Her naked form was now but a whisper of a memory in hazy memory of Tom’s night. But that didn’t matter. She’d be back. Women are pure and innocent creatures. Or so he’d been taught. Only a woman so totally devoted to a man would submit herself to him. The smile on his face was wiped off as he checked his sack: empty. The coin had disappeared, his battered rags nowhere.
Dressed in the worst of his heavily beaten clothes he wondered downstairs, only to be greeted by a barman and a half empty room of drinkers, ready to repeat last night all over again. All he heard was laughter when he asked where she’d gone and when he’d get his money back. Next thing he knew he was on the street.
For a few weeks, he spent his nights on the beach. The ship was there to keep him company for the first few nights, but after that it had slipped away. He spent his days sitting outside the bar, waiting for her, never succeeding.
He only got the message when he finally saw her again. Rushing to embrace her, she simply pushed him away. Late for work, she remarked – usual rates again tonight. After stopping by the door to explain to Tom, she was whisked inside by a rich looking man who’d grabbed her by the breasts.
The dream was over for Tom. The new life had degenerated into the old one. What he thought had been that mythical ‘love’ had turned out to be a farce – a mistake made by a naïve, drunken man who’d been taken advantage of. Education was wrong – Women weren’t innocent. Women were the devils. Tom’s heart stopped yearning for love a few around that time. His head stopped hurting, his eyes stopped leaking and he could now look a woman in the eye without wanting to slit her throat and dump the body in a river. He got a job in a local factory, finding a place to stay in the slums. Although it wasn’t a happy life, it was a far from the pain he’d suffer at the hands of that temptress.
After a brief dip into the realms of love, Tom was now the well-oiled, emotionless machine he’d always wished to be. And all the better for it.
Excellent stuff - a proper tale, one I felt attached to.
Went a bit Titanic in the middle there, but all was well in the end.
All at sea, eh?
Yeah yeah yeah.
Went a bit Titanic in the middle there, but all was well in the end.
All at sea, eh?
Yeah yeah yeah.
Note to self - this was good.
Note to self - read this in the morrow.
It was a good read. I confess that getting off the boat and finding a woman reminded me of an old sketch "We're on shore leave, we're on * leave"
Yus, good, very good.
Few errors and stuff (you need to read over it, hove) but these didn't matter for the majority as it was described vividly. And there was a definite pity felt for the suitably naive Tom.
Few errors and stuff (you need to read over it, hove) but these didn't matter for the majority as it was described vividly. And there was a definite pity felt for the suitably naive Tom.
Entertaining, told in an old fashioned "storyteller" way.
My only problem with it is I think young Tom wouldn't have been so distraught by the whoreish barmaid's deceptions, after all, he did "ravish" her all night.
My only problem with it is I think young Tom wouldn't have been so distraught by the whoreish barmaid's deceptions, after all, he did "ravish" her all night.
That was really, really fantastic. Beautiful, just excellent and, yeah, good I suppose.
An early winner maybe?
An early winner maybe?
Really enjoyed that. This must be the first story I've read properly in this forum since it started and it's great.
Hm.. like the description of his drunkenness, comparing it to being on the boat. It's very true. Heh, and I like the 'leaking eyes'. :)
Hm.. like the description of his drunkenness, comparing it to being on the boat. It's very true. Heh, and I like the 'leaking eyes'. :)
The theme being style, I thought I'd use a different writing style to the one I always use when doing SSC entries. Enjoy.
-------------------------------------
There was a little sailor boy, who’d run away from home. The sea was rough, and so was his life. Beaten by his father from the age of 3, he’d been brought up the hard way. Every night, greeted by the cold, harsh knuckles of his fathers fist. Having to explain it in his paltry excuse for a school the next day was worse. Much worse. There were a set of excuses he’d pluck from. Falling down stairs was a top one. Mugged was another favourite (which would also explain his dirty, ragged clothes), but, no matter how brilliantly worded his reposts seemed to be; there was no hiding from the abuse of his peers.
Bullying was a common occurrence at Roadsway. Nobody was free from it. Even the ones high up the ladder got brought down a peg or two every few months. Nobody slipped under the radar. Most particularly Tom. If ever there was to be trouble, he was there, somehow. He’d be playing one minute and then find himself in the middle of a playground battle the next. Not that anyone seemed to mind. One of his most vivid memories was of Mr. Harrison, his disciplinarian teacher, cheering on his opponent as he took one to the face.
But now he was at sea. All at sea. All at sea with men who he knew very little about, or even cared about. All he knew was that he was away from there. A clean slate, he thought. Nobody with pre-judgements, or with prejudices against him. No debt, no lies to live up to. Just him.
One problem: seasickness. Tom, despite all his athletic skills and physical fitness couldn’t hold a meal inside of him for all his worth on this godforsaken rat trap. Not that he’d want to the lukewarm excuses for meals were hardly appetising to begin with, without having to face another hard day shovelling coals into the furnace. Somehow, though, he’d survived. Survived through the storms, blazing heat and impossible conditions to keep on shovelling.
At nights, when he had time to himself, he’d often think. After taking 10 minutes to appreciate the joy of being able to breathe in a clean breath of air without having soot coat his lungs, he’d wonder where this boat was going. What he was doing here. If he’d live through the night. For someone as young and naïve as Tom, this really didn’t matter. Live for the moment, he thought. Just live.
Whilst Tom survived in his rags, upstairs on the docks, the upper classes strolled, carefree. Their dresses done to perfection by some expensive designer from overseas, hair perfectly placed to look wonderful from every angle and only the most perfect people about their sides to keep them company, it was a far cry from the desperate conditions of below.
Not that it mattered. To Tom, this was all just a dream. The much rumoured places above him were something taken straight from a fairytale. In a world as cruel and unkind as this, it was impossible for a place such as that to exist. No man, woman or child could ever experience anything so pure of pleasure. Clean clothes were a myth, beauty a virtue and happiness a lie made up by parents to keep children happy.
But no matter what his head told him, his heart yearned for this mythical happiness. No matter how much he tried to quash the feeling, to live out life as the machine he was fuelling day in, day out, he failed. There is a light that never goes out. A flame inside the heart that simply cannot be extinguished or washed away with sullen water. This was more than a feeling for Tom. This was a passion. A passion that ignited dreams that went against his usual bodily functions. The sea had awoken him in many different ways.
You see, this was a time of change for Tom. In the awkward stage where a male is far from being a boy but not yet in reach of being a man, the mind is awash with emotions that logically, mathematically should not be there. Adventure, some call it. Tom called them wrong. Insane. Stupid. Animalistic. But, however much he damned them they were still there.
You see, Tom longed for a girl; a woman, let’s say. Since he was old enough to appreciate beauty, he’d always stared into the eyes of young girls, unable to comprehend their beauty. He’d happily stare into the pupils of a beautiful woman for the rest of eternity, if given the chance. Tom was well aware of the rules, however. Look. Admire. But from a distance. Under no circumstances must a commoner, plebeian like yourself confront a woman, especially from an upper class.
When he was young, he was able to shut these thoughts out for a while. Yet now, he’d lost control of himself. The machine he’d designed himself to be only had one mechanism now – to think of girls. Some nights, he’s look out upon the sea. Smelling the fresh sea air (and often needing to empty his stomach), he’d be enticed to sneak from his room out to the railings and simply stare into the vast expanse of nothing. Whenever he looked out upon the sea, his pulse always raced. Although his eyes may deceive him, he always knew that somewhere out there, something extraordinary was happening.
He’d been out a sea for months now – how many, he couldn’t know – the basic education he’d salvaged from education barely let him count past 5, but he knew he’d had a birthday. He could feel it in his bones. His shoulders were broader, his voice, though rarely used, very much deeper. This was the transformation that he’d heard of.
It was time for a release. People like Tom weren’t born to be stuck with the same people and same tasks every day. That’s perhaps why many of them have untimely deaths. Tom often though he could hear the sea calling to him as waves crashed against the boat’s hull. They wanted him to join them. To become one with the water. He held firm, though. There were mufflings in the engine room that we were coming towards land. That soon the hell was to be over.
And sure enough it was. As much as he’d had loved to have put a time and date on it, when he finally reached the promised land, he couldn’t. Tom was never a man (as he was now) for memories. The vague nothingness that was his past life seemed to melt into one with yesterday .If asked, he honestly wouldn’t be able to remember whether or not he had any brothers or sisters. Tom lived for the moment. Which is maybe why he’d survived for so long.
As the boat harboured, Tom snook to the railings once again. Crowds had assembled to welcome the long awaited arrival. Pretty young women scurried off the boat to welcoming men. Although he was far too young for any of them, Tom lusted for them. For the briefest moment, he closed his eyes and dreamt that they were alone.
Then, a few hours later, he was allowed to leave the boat. Given a small collection of coins as a memoir of the journey, Tom watched his co-workers say long goodbyes to each other as he carried his scant collection of lifeless clothes in his sack and trawled away from the sea.
For hours, Tom did nothing be scour the streets. The first thing that he noticed was the kind of children he himself would have been playing with before the boat trip had shrunk – he was now far too tall to interact with any of them. He also noticed that young men were seemingly paying him respect in this new land more than he had gotten back home. Maybe this was a new start.
As night fell, lights attracted him to the city. The buzz of a bar was disturbing and as he peered through the window, but in reality, there was little elsewhere he could go. A new town, a new start. He walked in expecting to be pushed away by the first man that saw him. Surprisingly, as he scanned his eyes across the dense room, no one batted an eyelid. Nervously, he took a seat at the bar, taking out a copper coin from his dirty pocket. He looked up to see a beautiful barmaid staring into his eyes.
Tom was far from experienced with women – indeed, he was a full out amateur by all accounts. But from the first moment he sets eyes upon her, and she upon him, he knew this was it. This was what his heart had been yearning for all those months at sea. The green of her eyes told him all he needed to know. She was the most beautiful woman he would ever know.
He took her up on her offer for ‘something for the night’, drinking the many glasses she pushed his way too. He felt like he was at sea once again – his once steady legs had turned again to jelly and, for some reason, he could now see 2 of his paramour. Slamming down the last of his drinks for the night, she touched his hand, which quickly turned into a grab. Then a pull. He was behind the bar. Walking upstairs. In a room. Her room. She really was the one.
All night, he ravished her, and she him. Though he could barely see straight, he was the king of the world. No matter ho much he gave her, she always wanted more. Despite the puzzled look upon her face, she always screamed for extra. Harder. Faster. He couldn’t remember going to sleep.
He did remember waking up, though. The thumping in his head warned him that something was up. The light seemed different this morning. It’s once subtle rays now seemed rude and abrasive, breaking through Tom’s defences and irritating something of a sore spot in his head.
Then he rolled over. Gone. Where once her perfectly formed bosom had rested was just a blanket. Her naked form was now but a whisper of a memory in hazy memory of Tom’s night. But that didn’t matter. She’d be back. Women are pure and innocent creatures. Or so he’d been taught. Only a woman so totally devoted to a man would submit herself to him. The smile on his face was wiped off as he checked his sack: empty. The coin had disappeared, his battered rags nowhere.
Dressed in the worst of his heavily beaten clothes he wondered downstairs, only to be greeted by a barman and a half empty room of drinkers, ready to repeat last night all over again. All he heard was laughter when he asked where she’d gone and when he’d get his money back. Next thing he knew he was on the street.
For a few weeks, he spent his nights on the beach. The ship was there to keep him company for the first few nights, but after that it had slipped away. He spent his days sitting outside the bar, waiting for her, never succeeding.
He only got the message when he finally saw her again. Rushing to embrace her, she simply pushed him away. Late for work, she remarked – usual rates again tonight. After stopping by the door to explain to Tom, she was whisked inside by a rich looking man who’d grabbed her by the breasts.
The dream was over for Tom. The new life had degenerated into the old one. What he thought had been that mythical ‘love’ had turned out to be a farce – a mistake made by a naïve, drunken man who’d been taken advantage of. Education was wrong – Women weren’t innocent. Women were the devils. Tom’s heart stopped yearning for love a few around that time. His head stopped hurting, his eyes stopped leaking and he could now look a woman in the eye without wanting to slit her throat and dump the body in a river. He got a job in a local factory, finding a place to stay in the slums. Although it wasn’t a happy life, it was a far from the pain he’d suffer at the hands of that temptress.
After a brief dip into the realms of love, Tom was now the well-oiled, emotionless machine he’d always wished to be. And all the better for it.
-------------------------------------
There was a little sailor boy, who’d run away from home. The sea was rough, and so was his life. Beaten by his father from the age of 3, he’d been brought up the hard way. Every night, greeted by the cold, harsh knuckles of his fathers fist. Having to explain it in his paltry excuse for a school the next day was worse. Much worse. There were a set of excuses he’d pluck from. Falling down stairs was a top one. Mugged was another favourite (which would also explain his dirty, ragged clothes), but, no matter how brilliantly worded his reposts seemed to be; there was no hiding from the abuse of his peers.
Bullying was a common occurrence at Roadsway. Nobody was free from it. Even the ones high up the ladder got brought down a peg or two every few months. Nobody slipped under the radar. Most particularly Tom. If ever there was to be trouble, he was there, somehow. He’d be playing one minute and then find himself in the middle of a playground battle the next. Not that anyone seemed to mind. One of his most vivid memories was of Mr. Harrison, his disciplinarian teacher, cheering on his opponent as he took one to the face.
But now he was at sea. All at sea. All at sea with men who he knew very little about, or even cared about. All he knew was that he was away from there. A clean slate, he thought. Nobody with pre-judgements, or with prejudices against him. No debt, no lies to live up to. Just him.
One problem: seasickness. Tom, despite all his athletic skills and physical fitness couldn’t hold a meal inside of him for all his worth on this godforsaken rat trap. Not that he’d want to the lukewarm excuses for meals were hardly appetising to begin with, without having to face another hard day shovelling coals into the furnace. Somehow, though, he’d survived. Survived through the storms, blazing heat and impossible conditions to keep on shovelling.
At nights, when he had time to himself, he’d often think. After taking 10 minutes to appreciate the joy of being able to breathe in a clean breath of air without having soot coat his lungs, he’d wonder where this boat was going. What he was doing here. If he’d live through the night. For someone as young and naïve as Tom, this really didn’t matter. Live for the moment, he thought. Just live.
Whilst Tom survived in his rags, upstairs on the docks, the upper classes strolled, carefree. Their dresses done to perfection by some expensive designer from overseas, hair perfectly placed to look wonderful from every angle and only the most perfect people about their sides to keep them company, it was a far cry from the desperate conditions of below.
Not that it mattered. To Tom, this was all just a dream. The much rumoured places above him were something taken straight from a fairytale. In a world as cruel and unkind as this, it was impossible for a place such as that to exist. No man, woman or child could ever experience anything so pure of pleasure. Clean clothes were a myth, beauty a virtue and happiness a lie made up by parents to keep children happy.
But no matter what his head told him, his heart yearned for this mythical happiness. No matter how much he tried to quash the feeling, to live out life as the machine he was fuelling day in, day out, he failed. There is a light that never goes out. A flame inside the heart that simply cannot be extinguished or washed away with sullen water. This was more than a feeling for Tom. This was a passion. A passion that ignited dreams that went against his usual bodily functions. The sea had awoken him in many different ways.
You see, this was a time of change for Tom. In the awkward stage where a male is far from being a boy but not yet in reach of being a man, the mind is awash with emotions that logically, mathematically should not be there. Adventure, some call it. Tom called them wrong. Insane. Stupid. Animalistic. But, however much he damned them they were still there.
You see, Tom longed for a girl; a woman, let’s say. Since he was old enough to appreciate beauty, he’d always stared into the eyes of young girls, unable to comprehend their beauty. He’d happily stare into the pupils of a beautiful woman for the rest of eternity, if given the chance. Tom was well aware of the rules, however. Look. Admire. But from a distance. Under no circumstances must a commoner, plebeian like yourself confront a woman, especially from an upper class.
When he was young, he was able to shut these thoughts out for a while. Yet now, he’d lost control of himself. The machine he’d designed himself to be only had one mechanism now – to think of girls. Some nights, he’s look out upon the sea. Smelling the fresh sea air (and often needing to empty his stomach), he’d be enticed to sneak from his room out to the railings and simply stare into the vast expanse of nothing. Whenever he looked out upon the sea, his pulse always raced. Although his eyes may deceive him, he always knew that somewhere out there, something extraordinary was happening.
He’d been out a sea for months now – how many, he couldn’t know – the basic education he’d salvaged from education barely let him count past 5, but he knew he’d had a birthday. He could feel it in his bones. His shoulders were broader, his voice, though rarely used, very much deeper. This was the transformation that he’d heard of.
It was time for a release. People like Tom weren’t born to be stuck with the same people and same tasks every day. That’s perhaps why many of them have untimely deaths. Tom often though he could hear the sea calling to him as waves crashed against the boat’s hull. They wanted him to join them. To become one with the water. He held firm, though. There were mufflings in the engine room that we were coming towards land. That soon the hell was to be over.
And sure enough it was. As much as he’d had loved to have put a time and date on it, when he finally reached the promised land, he couldn’t. Tom was never a man (as he was now) for memories. The vague nothingness that was his past life seemed to melt into one with yesterday .If asked, he honestly wouldn’t be able to remember whether or not he had any brothers or sisters. Tom lived for the moment. Which is maybe why he’d survived for so long.
As the boat harboured, Tom snook to the railings once again. Crowds had assembled to welcome the long awaited arrival. Pretty young women scurried off the boat to welcoming men. Although he was far too young for any of them, Tom lusted for them. For the briefest moment, he closed his eyes and dreamt that they were alone.
Then, a few hours later, he was allowed to leave the boat. Given a small collection of coins as a memoir of the journey, Tom watched his co-workers say long goodbyes to each other as he carried his scant collection of lifeless clothes in his sack and trawled away from the sea.
For hours, Tom did nothing be scour the streets. The first thing that he noticed was the kind of children he himself would have been playing with before the boat trip had shrunk – he was now far too tall to interact with any of them. He also noticed that young men were seemingly paying him respect in this new land more than he had gotten back home. Maybe this was a new start.
As night fell, lights attracted him to the city. The buzz of a bar was disturbing and as he peered through the window, but in reality, there was little elsewhere he could go. A new town, a new start. He walked in expecting to be pushed away by the first man that saw him. Surprisingly, as he scanned his eyes across the dense room, no one batted an eyelid. Nervously, he took a seat at the bar, taking out a copper coin from his dirty pocket. He looked up to see a beautiful barmaid staring into his eyes.
Tom was far from experienced with women – indeed, he was a full out amateur by all accounts. But from the first moment he sets eyes upon her, and she upon him, he knew this was it. This was what his heart had been yearning for all those months at sea. The green of her eyes told him all he needed to know. She was the most beautiful woman he would ever know.
He took her up on her offer for ‘something for the night’, drinking the many glasses she pushed his way too. He felt like he was at sea once again – his once steady legs had turned again to jelly and, for some reason, he could now see 2 of his paramour. Slamming down the last of his drinks for the night, she touched his hand, which quickly turned into a grab. Then a pull. He was behind the bar. Walking upstairs. In a room. Her room. She really was the one.
All night, he ravished her, and she him. Though he could barely see straight, he was the king of the world. No matter ho much he gave her, she always wanted more. Despite the puzzled look upon her face, she always screamed for extra. Harder. Faster. He couldn’t remember going to sleep.
He did remember waking up, though. The thumping in his head warned him that something was up. The light seemed different this morning. It’s once subtle rays now seemed rude and abrasive, breaking through Tom’s defences and irritating something of a sore spot in his head.
Then he rolled over. Gone. Where once her perfectly formed bosom had rested was just a blanket. Her naked form was now but a whisper of a memory in hazy memory of Tom’s night. But that didn’t matter. She’d be back. Women are pure and innocent creatures. Or so he’d been taught. Only a woman so totally devoted to a man would submit herself to him. The smile on his face was wiped off as he checked his sack: empty. The coin had disappeared, his battered rags nowhere.
Dressed in the worst of his heavily beaten clothes he wondered downstairs, only to be greeted by a barman and a half empty room of drinkers, ready to repeat last night all over again. All he heard was laughter when he asked where she’d gone and when he’d get his money back. Next thing he knew he was on the street.
For a few weeks, he spent his nights on the beach. The ship was there to keep him company for the first few nights, but after that it had slipped away. He spent his days sitting outside the bar, waiting for her, never succeeding.
He only got the message when he finally saw her again. Rushing to embrace her, she simply pushed him away. Late for work, she remarked – usual rates again tonight. After stopping by the door to explain to Tom, she was whisked inside by a rich looking man who’d grabbed her by the breasts.
The dream was over for Tom. The new life had degenerated into the old one. What he thought had been that mythical ‘love’ had turned out to be a farce – a mistake made by a naïve, drunken man who’d been taken advantage of. Education was wrong – Women weren’t innocent. Women were the devils. Tom’s heart stopped yearning for love a few around that time. His head stopped hurting, his eyes stopped leaking and he could now look a woman in the eye without wanting to slit her throat and dump the body in a river. He got a job in a local factory, finding a place to stay in the slums. Although it wasn’t a happy life, it was a far from the pain he’d suffer at the hands of that temptress.
After a brief dip into the realms of love, Tom was now the well-oiled, emotionless machine he’d always wished to be. And all the better for it.