Convict Part 1

Yesterday my wife and boy passed on from this despicable scene. Trapped in the floating, cesspool of human misery for months we have been. I tried to weep for them, yet no tears would break free from my eyes. I held their lifeless bodies for hours as I said my good byes. The ships crew made their morning ritual to cast out the dead and smelly. Rough hands unceremoniously drag the poor souls from the boats belly. Overboard they are tossed, into the briney depths of the sea. Some barely alive, desperate cries for mercy is their plea. Convicts we are, made up of rogues, vagrants, murderers and thieves. Some, like me, wrongly accused debtors who no one believes. For some the only crime committed was being dealt the peasants hand. Without any choice, sent to the penal colonies of Van Diemons land. I used to love the ocean, where I could dip my feet into its shore. Now I detest its tempest, the angry swell, I utterly abhor. The waves now taunt me, beckoning me to be immersed under their caps of white. To be swallowed forever with its multitude of secrets, hidden from the light. Awakened from fitful slumber by a thunderous crash on Starboard side. Poseidon has thrust his trident, the prongs split the ship open wide. The sea cleansing its surface of flotsam, the waves engulf the boat. Its dastardly deed done with precision, the cargo down Davey Jones lockers throat. Somehow I am floating on the dark water, fearing what lies down below. Clinging to a makeshift raft that will now become my bedfellow. Am I free of my captors? Has the sea spared me from a watery grave? I lie limp on my wooden floatilla, drifting in and out of reality wave after wave.