Constant Groaning

The groaning and measured moaning was not coming from the pathetic, crumpled figure slumped in the corner. Instead, each creak, moan and groan was coming from the ship itself. Thick, wooden planks that ran laterally from wall to wall intersected with stout beams that stood vertically to hold each level of the ship up. With each wave, echoes stirred from deep within the ship. It was as if, the ship itself could feel his pain.

Cutter could hardly keep his mind focused on the most urgent task of the moment: staying awake. He had heard of sailors who were beaten with the Captain's Cane who slipped into unconsciousness and never awoke again. The penalty for not waking up at sea was an early exit into the hereafter. However, they had not gone easy on him. The boatswain had struck in 20 times with all his might. Some sailors said they simply went numb after about five or six strokes, but not Cutter. He had felt each blow penetrate past the flayed flesh, under the gaping muscles and tendons, through his bruised bones, and into his very soul.

The rocking of the ship did nothing to pacify the purple and blue bruises that covered most his entire back and legs. Cutter tried to keep his legs drawn up into his chest and stay in the fetal position as much as possible to keep from rolling around the small compartment he was being held in like a child's ball.

A giant rat scurried across the floor over to Cutter's feet. Cutter feebly kicked a swolen foot at the rat. It moved away, but only a small distance away. "At least, I have some company," thought Cutter.

He had lost count of the days. He had no idea how long he had been fading in and out of unconsciousness. By his drowsy reckoning he had been down here after the beating for about three weeks. There was no real light, just varying degrees of darkness. Sometimes, he would awaken to find several dog-sized rats sniffing at his feet and once he had even had to swat one off his head.

"Constance..." he moaned in cadence with the ship's creeking. He felt as if his voice was being lost among the ship. He tried to remember the delicate lines of her face. Wisps of her auburn colored hair would fall lazily in her face. Scarlet threads of satin composed her lips. Her emerald eyes could hold any man captive with a slight blink or bat. She stood poised radiating grace and elegance, but with a confident stride that caused all lookers to become gawkers. She was his dream and he needed her more now than ever.

Then he remembered with a jolt of the ship, that she was gone...


(all work is original and copyright to AFVann 2006)