After the Plank

One

I rocked back and forth with the rhythm of the waves as the salty scent of ocean water intermingled with old wood. My large pastel dresses filled the majority of the space of the box in which we were forced to share. They were certain to be imprinted by the stench of the sea. I wrinkled my small nose at the scent of a sailor, walking down to check behind boxes for possible stowaways, such as me. Hopefully, they had been less smart than me and hid behind the cargo. His stride was long and uncoordinated as if he was drunk. The creak of the ship was apparent, however not quite masking the drunken man's staggering feet.

"Oi, fellas, we got another one!"

Cheers arose from above my ceiling. My heart froze instantly. My chest constricted as though I could not breathe. I dared not. Any second the lid of the box could have been ripped off to expose my small being curled up in a crate labeled for whiskey. I could have been tortured or raped and killed at the hands of barbarians in the custody of a small girl.

I felt the vibrations of the friction from the box above mine being pulled off in an unsure manner. The sailor dropped it and uttered a curse. I heard the clinking of bottles, but no shattering of glass. He hummed a sea song as he pridefully wandered to the top deck to deliver his package to the other sailors. My breaths came back slowly, with the fear the sailor could return any moment. It had been this way for weeks, the sailors returning to the hull and taking whatever alcohol they could spare without the buyers noticing. Once every few days a different sailor would journey down and take a crate.

Suddenly, I realized my mistake. I was a rabbit hidden in a shrinking field of other prey. A bottle of alcohol in the drunk's sights. All I could do was hope.

I heard the subtle swaying of the sailor's cots as they slept. I took the small knife from the corner and etched a dash marking another long day into the poorly lit box. A few knots in the wood allowed a small amount of candlelight to illuminate my surroundings. The knots were dangerous for my hiding, but when I was searching, I could afford no more time finding a new box for the ship that left that night. I needed to make it to the new world. America.

Not quite a country, simply a place of scraped together hopes and dreams held in place with rope. A place where I could put my hopes along with it. But first I needed to survive the journey. I managed to sneak scentless loaves of bread into the folds of my dresses where they were less likely to spoil. I nibbled on the end of one, not wanting to give in to temptation and devour the whole thing. I was running low.

"TO ONE MORE WEEK ON OCEAN, LADS."

The men were my calendar. We had been on this voyage from Great Britain for two months. I was so thin I could blow away by breathing too hard. I was tired. I slumped against the side of the box. Sleep was no hard task, but I bumped into the side too forcefully. A crate to my left toppled off the stack, breaking against impact with the hull.

End of Chapter One.