Struggles Of A Drunken Sailor

A Story by Blue Jacc

16 year-old, James Wavelocks is conflicted as his native city of Aeriepolis is under oppression from the tyrant governor Friedrich Maxwell and his "Peace Keepers."

Volume 1, Chapter 1:

“Poor Fishermen:”

There’s a day that no one talks about, yet everybody knows. In the old, industrial fishing city of Aeriepolis everybody understands the unspoken law of silence, which is subtly monitored by the soulless, mindless, so-called peace keepers that our tyrant governor Friederich Maxwell has put in place. These keepers make sure that no one gets away with free-thinking or creative-freedom. And this forsaken day is the day in which we’re oppressed the most. Our houses are raided, our crops destroyed, nothing is left intact. All we can do is look in helpless horror as we can not do anything. We’re trapped. Today is Monday, September 1st, of 1824. My name is James Wavelocks, and I’m a sailor. I was born and raised in this city by my mother alone, as my father was away all the time spending his money on booze and women. I swore, that when I grew older, I would be the complete opposite my father was. I swore that I would treat my wife and my children the way my father never did. In an odd series of events however, I am an alcoholic at the mere age of sixteen. I don’t have a wife yet; the circumstances in which my city is under are not the most favorable for marriage. This city is in serious need of a change; a revolution. I was talking to my neighbours, Chiaodan Sea-yung, and Marutin Bellygreen the other day about this subject, I mentioned - “This city is more and more unstable; we need change, and we need it fast.”

“What can we do? We’re always being watched,” replied Chiaodan anxiously.

“They keep tabs on all of us, there’s no way we could get away with anything,” agreed Marutin nervously.

“Are you kids afraid of what these cowards would do?” I angrily replied.

“We’re many, we’re strong, and we’re smart;” I exclaimed, “that coward Maxwell knows this, that’s why he has us under so much surveillance.”

They both looked at each other puzzled to what I had said.

“What is there to be afraid of?,” I kept going, “Death?, if that’s the price we have to pay for freedom the so be it.”

Chiaodan took a step back, looked at me dead in the eye, then proceeded to turn around and looked up at the foggy, Monday afternoon.

“Have you been drinking?” he asked in an uneasy tone, “Is this what this is all about?, one of your drunken fantasies?” He Sighed, “There’s no way we’ll ever free ourselves from this sadistic cycle of fear... We’re lost, there’s no way for redemption in this forsaken city. We’re not even in the map anymore, how do you expect us to make a difference?.”

After what Chiaodan said, I simply walked away. He was right, what could we do?. I was pondering and meditating on what he had said. And then reality hit me like the ravaging waves of the sea hits a fishing boat on a winter night; we’re just kids!, we have no serious skill that could be useful. We hang-out in dirty alleyways that smell like old, rotten fish. We have holes in our boots. Our clothes are old rags only held together by faith and a few buckles and straps. We’re sailors not soldiers. I’ve hit a brick wall. Is it the alcohol in my bloodstream?, is it the stress of the long trips to the sea?. I need to clear my mind. All I can think of at the moment is this old song my father used to sing.

“We were born fishermen, so we were born poor.

But we were rich in our minds, and we we’re rich in our souls.

The long journey home is what we long for

We don’t take no, we’re like social control.

We might be poor, but we are free.

We do what we want and we do what we please.

The sea is our canvas, and the boat is our brush

We’re artists catching fish long away from the shore.”

I don’t know what I ought to do, I’m clueless. This song is just conflicting me more. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!!?? My city, my friends, and I am torn apart; we’re like lost children in a dark room, and we need a candle.