[005] One big circle
I'm honestly not certain which I prefer: up to months at sea with no stops, or small journeys frequently interrupted and ended by a number of stops at port. The last few weeks have been riddled with the latter, and I'm surprised to say I may be missing the former. Such is the lack of purpose news and worthy destinations of late.
All this commotion over the latest bout of slave auctioning is the only news not worth hearing and yet all I do hear.
A man was unloading at the dock and asked for my assistance in some of the lifting work, even offering to pay for my troubles. I didn't need it, but as it was actual cargo that I would be working with and the man seemed decent and low on help, I decided to do what I could.
I had just started when some slave drivers passed by; there was a little girl in the line, dark-skinned but charming in her own way, who reminded me of. She happened to wander away from the group -- unintentionally, from what I could tell -- and the man I was working with jumped on her faster than a dog on scraps to smack her back into place.
It was revolting to watch, but it was over as fast as it had started and the girl was sent back to the line, crying. Even from where I was, I could see a bruise forming on her dark skin. I left then and there without another word.
I only hate doing nothing when I feel as if I should be doing something. But I know from experience that any number of somethings may well add up to a single nothing, whatever the intentions, if they are not justified to a higher society.
I despise this town at times.
All this commotion over the latest bout of slave auctioning is the only news not worth hearing and yet all I do hear.
A man was unloading at the dock and asked for my assistance in some of the lifting work, even offering to pay for my troubles. I didn't need it, but as it was actual cargo that I would be working with and the man seemed decent and low on help, I decided to do what I could.
I had just started when some slave drivers passed by; there was a little girl in the line, dark-skinned but charming in her own way, who reminded me of. She happened to wander away from the group -- unintentionally, from what I could tell -- and the man I was working with jumped on her faster than a dog on scraps to smack her back into place.
It was revolting to watch, but it was over as fast as it had started and the girl was sent back to the line, crying. Even from where I was, I could see a bruise forming on her dark skin. I left then and there without another word.
I only hate doing nothing when I feel as if I should be doing something. But I know from experience that any number of somethings may well add up to a single nothing, whatever the intentions, if they are not justified to a higher society.
I despise this town at times.