The cold wind and the colder currents bring the best fish. They thrive in the near freezing waters and thus is our purpose. The fish are ripe and fresh and begging to be caught. Happy in their freezing world. Unfortunately I do not share their sentiment. The stunning beauty of this part of the world is not lost on me but I am not here by my own choice. I am the prisoner of a mad man.
A mentally lopsided lunatic. A deranged psychopath who will stop at nothing to torment my every waking moment. A tyrant with a burly frame accented with the putrid smell of sweat and wet, rotting fish.
Day after day my tasks recycle themselves. Every one intimately linked to the catching, cleaning and packaging of fish. Every one dictated by my captor. Every one completed only out of fear of retribution. Brutal punishment.
My hands have worn away. I no longer have fingers or palms or even the soft bony backside. Instead I have clumsy nubs with overgrown callouses. I do believe that these stumps that were my fingers are now all the same length.
At times I think of escape. I fantasize about running off at some port or simply jumping off into the sea. The cold waters may take me or they may drive me to warmer places. But at least I would be free. I never follow through. After eleven years of being shackled to this blister of a man in some form or another I think my will has left me.
Speak of the devil I hear the monstrosity calling my name now. Probably to perform some brutal and likely dangerous task that has no business being done out on rough seas. And the devil himself approaches...
"Dinner is ready little one."
"Okay dad, I'll be right there!"
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