The waves crashed against the small boat with the rhythm of the ocean unchanged. A moonless sky swathed the deck in darkness; only the orange glow of a cigarette dared to peek through the shadows.

This was Anton’s 13th night at sea. Superstition wouldn’t let him sleep, but neither would the fear of forever leaving home—the only home he knew. If he could make it a few more days, a better life would greet him. As would the smiling faces who left him so long ago. If he could just make it a few more days.

Anton sighed softly.

boat at night.jpg

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