Dwell in the Docks

Mist from the waves gathered thickly among the dreaded ports. Distasteful sprays littered the path that separated the rock from the water. Clochards and streetwalkers found this fish hole best suited for their priorities.

Sailors trampled the decks and polluted the air with the smell of rum after their lingering travels at sea. Some honest men came back with treasure troves; the precedence of the beggars. Other disreputable ones only weighed anchor at the sight of salty wenches.

Pure choice or the ability to turn away from such detestable and piteous actions did not exist on these docks. Living a way that brought yourself high was a dream. Survival felt as lucky as an extra shine of coins. That was the best life could give: survival.

Each man, woman, and child could not touch that flame without payment. Payment could only be given once they gave. The only thing left to give was their dignity, innocence, and hopes of a brighter future. What else was there but turmoil? This peaceful upheaval stained the skies to a forever white and grey and black.

Simple apparel lost its blanket of comfort and warmth, only serving as a frozen cover from any who sought to take away more than you could spare. The bright blues and greens in the young ones eyes were washed in squalid rain. Every shade of color became a new monster, torn and hanging heedlessly from a damaged soul. The lovely fleece girls had mused to be their birthright gems were cut away, what seemed to them as irremediable.

How can you blame such a painless lose to chain react irremediable events? The wisest of the vagabonds always say to the children of the world: “We come by choice, because we turned away from the right ones.” Do not be so unfortunate to get wrapped around the deadly sinners finger. What color shall you be when the mist blinds you and the sea stains you?