#washed ashore

     “I… ha-haven’t finished the ch-chores yet… captain.” Rudy stuttered in a shiver.

     “Well, you can finish them tomorrow. Get inside.”

     Rudy stopped what he was doing and obeyed, scrambling over to the captain, nervous as he was gestured over to his quarters. He shivered as he wrapped his arms aroumd himself, the captain shutting the door with a pound, cutting off the breeze. He glared at Rudy in disapproval.

     "What's with the slow work?" The captain demanded, "It's the end of the day and you're not finished. That's unacceptable."

     “I'm sorry, Captain. I need warmer clothes. It's hard to work when I'm cold.”

     “You need food and water. You don’t need to be warm. I don't care if you're cold."

     “I understand, captain.” He said, lowering his head. A part of him felt like a knife just got twisted in his gut as he realized his obedience. If this were a few months ago he'd argue back. Now here he was bowing his head and accepting the no. What the fuck.

     "I told you there would be consequences." The captain stepped towards him, "You didn't complete your work."

     "I-I understand— Captain." He said again, keeping his eyes fixed to the floor. Footsteps approached as shadows flickered in the candle light. They stopped in front of the small man, Rudy's gaze on the captain's feet.

     "Stand up." He commanded.

     Rudy slowly got to their wobbly feet, the exhaustion of the day settling into them. The captain gave them a slight shove against their chest, feet stumbling back but ultimately failing to keep their balance. They tripped on their heel, back falling hard agaisnt the captain's desk.

     Rudy watched in wide-eyed horror as the candle fell down onto an ornate, expensive-looking rug that sat beneath it. It all happened in a matter of seconds, Rudy frozen in fear while the captain immediately jumped into action.

     Grabbing a bucket of water that sat outside the door, the captain threw them over the fire, grabbing a second one to fully finish the job. He dropped it at his feet as he looked at the ashen, half-burnt rug in disbelief. His eyes then moved to Rudy before quickly approaching them.

      “I– I’m so sorry, I didn't mean—” a loud smack filled the air, along with a crack as the captain punched him in the nose, knocking them back onto the wet, ashen floorboards. The taste of copper ran across his tounge as he licked his lips, blood dripping down from his nose.

      “Not only did you ruin my most prized possession, but you damn near could’ve burnt my entire ship to the ground!” the captain was seething.

     Without thinking, Rudy bit back, “Well, I’m not the idiot who put a fucking candle on a wooden ship!”

     A hard kick to his ribs made him scream, before taking his breath away. It hurt to even breathe, which could only be done with his mouth. His throbbing nose was clogged with blood. Before he could even adjust to the pain, the captain kicked him again.

     And again.

     And again...

     Rudy was curled up in the fetal position, arms and legs covering the most vulnerable parts of his body.

     The blows were brought harshly in rage, the captain only calming when he feared he might kill him. He wanted to.

     “If you weren’t so expensive I’d have you kneelhauled!” He yelled.

     The only thing Rudy could do was make soft moans of pain, rhythmically breathing through his mouth in shallow breaths. The occasional spike of pain would make him groan "ah—" and grit his teeth. Just laying there on the hard floor, only able to brace it and take the pain that followed.

     He was tense in fear the blows would start again. The captain grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar, pulling him to his feet, causing Rudy to scream in pain. His bones may not have been broken, but his body was sure not in good condition.

     He was standing only for a moment before being shoved onto the bed. Despite the softer surface, the momentum and bounce back still hurt like hell. Through the groans of pain and labored lungs, he let out a tear-stifled breath, "Please... 'm sorry..." he said weakly.

    "Sorry ain't gonna fix my fucking rug, kid." The captain growled as he tore off his pants. The scrawny little sailor was already forming bruises. Suppose that happens when you're malnourished. The captain lifted up his shirt, running his hands over the bruise on his ribs. Rudy winched and held a breath.

     A silent scream escaped Rudy as he curled up on himself.

     "You just keep makin' those little sounds..." The captain said as he unbuckled his belt. Rudy closed his eyes as he braced for what was to come, which wasn't what he was expecting.

Without warning, the leather was whipped down over his ribs.

     Much like the kicks, they came over and over again down on his already bruised skin, now leaving red marks in their wake.

     As Rudy became less responsive the captain must've realized he'd been going a bit too far, taking him to the medic's quarters. The captain barged right in without warning, beginning to tie Rudy down to the medic bed, all four limbs stretched and held with tight ropes.

     "The limbs ain't broken, are they?" The medic asked, unfazed by the captain's suddeness.

     "I wouldn't be tyin' 'em if they were." The captain responded."

     "What'd the boy do?" The medic asked, unconcerned.

     "Burnt me fuckn' rug is what the little cunt did."

     "Ah, I see." She said, like it all made sense and was warranted. She walked over to them.

     Tense in pain, Rudy squeezed his eyes shut as he focused on his breathing. Every rise and fall of his chest felt like a knife to his rib. The captain didn’t stick around, agitated as he stomped out of the room.

     The medic's hands were cold agaisnt his skin, bare and ungloved as she traced his bruises. The room was quiet and damp, the ship creaking with its rock. Dim lights shown down through his closed eyelids, swearing from stress. He was so lost in a daze he hadn't realized when he'd been asked a question.

     "... Hello?"

     "Huh?" Rudy opened his eyes.

     "I asked if you felt dizzy."

     "I— no, not really, just— in pain." He winced, struggling to breathe and speak at the same time.

     "Pain where?"

     "M-my ribs. And my back. Where— where he kicked me."

     "Hm." She hummed. It was silent for quite a moment, "I don't think you're bleeding internally, but you probably have some kind of fracture on your ribs. I haven't much equipment so I couldn't tell you for sure, but you should be fine, albeit in pain." She stood up and walked towards the door.

     "W-where are you going?"

     "To bed." She answered like it was a stupid question.

     "That's it? But— but what about my ribs?"

     "You'll be fine." She repeated, exiting.

     And so, he was left there on the medic bed, engulfed in darkness as she left. He couldn't move an inch, the rock of the ship making it feel disorienting. All he could do now was try and get some sleep.

-----

      Rudy limped next to the Captain, his hands tightly gripping their frail arms, nearly pulling him across the floorboards. He threw him down to his knees, the whole crew standing in a crowd, watching. Rudy kept his head down low, not wanting to look at anyone. He wasn't sure what was about to happen. He closed his eyes and tensed for the worst.

     Please, my ribs are already broken, what more do you want from me?

     With no time to brace, a whip was brought down across their back. A horrible, stinging pain burned their flesh. Rudy screamed at the sensation, but before he could really even react it was brought down a second time. Trying to instinctively get away only made it worse, the captain not stopping the motion. It was brought down on his arms, his legs, his sides. He covered his face in protection.

     The captain rolled him onto his stomach, continuing to hit their back, harder and harder. Whistles of encouragement came from the crew as they watched, some even cheering or wincing in sympathy pain, through not truly caring.

     He could feel the blood run down his sides. He could see it on his hands. A throbbing ache trickled all over his body. Not to mention the sore spots that were already bruised.

     His body felt like it was physically about to give out on him. He was being pushed to his limits, on the verge of going over the edge. Bending under so much force that he was about to break. It was only a matter of time before his muscles and his brain seized to cooperate. Forcing his body to go through the motions that it just wasn't able to do anymore.

     He burst out into tears, sobbing uncontrollably. Each cry that escaped him tore into his ribs like daggers. The salty sea air seeped into the burning gashes of his back. It was agony.

     And he was still expected to clean afterwards.

     He was never given a break.

     The only break he was allowed to have over his healing process was exemption from heavy lifting on order of the medic. He continued work as usual, with a constant difficulty to breathe and in so much pain he was ready to topple over. He didn’t get out of the post-work "activities", either.

     About a month passes, and the medic declared he was healed enough for further punishment. Apparently the captain decided he wasn't quite finished with him yet.

     He was stood tied to a pole on the ship, wrapped in ropes. His hands were up above his head, his bare feet on the tips of their toes, being forced to stand and move with the rock of the ship lest his muscles be pulled and tugged.

     He was left like that all day. To make it all worse the crew was off this day, so they had all the time in the world to hang around and torment him further. Poking him with swords, waving food in front of his face, pouring water on his head. Not only was it physically torturous, but it was humiliating, too.

     Tears fell from his eyes when he realized he would also be left there overnight. He cried until he physically couldn't anymore. His arms began to fall numb and he wondered if his shoulders would be ripped from their sockets.

     With whatever little feeling he had left in his hands, now alone, he picked at the ropes around his wrists, not expecting much. He refused to let hope glimmer in wake of despair. But...

     "Fuck." He gasped in a mix of shock and adrenaline as he managed to free his hand. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." he mumbled, his heart rate excelerating, his hands shaking. He continued to play with the knots of the ropes, staying focused as much as he could.

     He collapsed harshly to the ground as his other hand untied, falling like dead weight. He couldn't bring his body to move, but he HAD to. Being found free would be horrible. He had to move. He had to.

     His mind was a haze as he crawled his way over to the side of the ship. His bony hands gripped the wooden edge of the boat as he pulled himself to his feet, leaning heavily against it.

     The world was spinning and not just from the wicked rock of the ship. His now quite long hair blew in the harsh winds, some strands sticking to his skin from the rainfall.

     Shaking, he lifted one leg over the edge, gazing down into the formidable waves that crashed into the wooden side. They were loud, as was the wind and falling rain. With half his body now in the grave of the sea, he closed his eyes, almost meditative as he thought about the end.

     A certain bittersweet bliss washed over him as he let his mind wander, his life more so flipping by his mind like pages in a photo album rather than a flash. He felt a certain kinship with the human who came before him, despite never meeting. Their fate was the same in the end. Slowly his weight tilted along with the rock of the boat, and he fell into the sea.

     The water of the ocean was freezing cold, shocking him with adrenaline, numbing the pain. He was ready to die, but now his body had other plans, being put into survival mode against his own wants.

     His body ached, his heart pounded, his skin numb to the cold. Despite it, he held on, fighting against his own body. He paddled through the waves, sinking under, then gasping for breath. The sound of water filled his ears, then the sound of waves, bobbing up and down.

     The shore was ahead, the question was if he could make it there. If the waves would carry him further out, or bring him to land. His fate was in her hands.

     As that fate would have it, he was pushed toward land.

     Washed to the shore, he squeezed the sand between his fingers, making a fist, a familiar scene. As much as he wanted to collapse, this was no time for such a thing. He'd keep going until his heart decided to give out on him, which could be sooner rather than later. He was amazed he wasn't already dead.

     Standing up on wobbling legs he pushed on through the rocky sand of the coast, and into the forest. Mud squished between his toes with every step he took. He ran for only a minute, before getting hit with fatigue. A pain rang in his chest. He put his hand over it, toppling over. Welp, I guess this is it. Death by overexersion.

     He refused to lay down and give up. It's either drop dead or push on. One hand was over his heart, the other against a tree. He focused on his breathing, and eventually the pain passed. He broke out into a stress-filled sob.

     Limping forward now, the adrenaline had worn off. Hunched forward, his arms wrapped around himself, and barely holding on. His body ached, his bones shivered, he was covered in cuts and bruises and should for all accounts and purposes be dead. But he wasn't.

     Faint lights could be seen up above. Rudy lifted his head and cautiously made his way forward. The lights seemingly came from the ground, and as he creeped further, he made it to a steep hill, almost a cliffs edge, but not quite. A town sat in the valley, cmpletely unrecognizable to him. Somewhere far off from the docks the captain sailed from.

     Light loomed through the streets in a warm glow, the distant chatter heard. Rudy simply watched and observed, unsure of what could happen, though it was near impossible to actually see from so high up, especially in the dark. He slowly trickled down from the wooded hillside until his bare feet touched the grass.

     Staying on the edge of the town, he observed, hiding behind buildings, peeking around the corners. Despite being the middle of the night, there were quite a few folks out and about.

     It quickly became clear to him that this place didn't exactly shy away from the practice of keeping pets like the folks on The Docks. People out in the open would have humans following them, running their late-night errands and carrying their heavy loads. Humans covered in sweat and rags while their owners wore lace and needed not lift a finger.

     If anyone saw him, they'd have to know they were some kind of runaway, right? And— this place wasn't exactly far from where the captain's ship was. In fact, he'd probably dock here in the morning. He could NOT be recaptured now. The punishment would surely be worse than death. He was still recovering from the last one.

     The smell of food waved through the air, people dining indoors away from the cold, open windows giving the savory scent an escape. The smell of the freshly baked bread was torturous. It smelt so delicious, and warm, and buttery. His mouth watered just as much as his stomach growled.

     He spotted a dumpster... is this what it's about to come to? Eating food from the garbage?

     He peeked inside.

     Flies buzzed around the newly thrown-out pork and fish. It smelt expired, and near the start of rotting. Leaning inside the metal bin he grabbed a piece of pork, squeezed his eyes shut, and ate it before his mind could protest his muscles, forcing it in his mouth.

     He slapped a hand over his mouth to prevent his gag reflex from spitting it out, the reaction basically immediate. He forced himself to chew through the sour, bitter taste along his tounge. He was gagging as he chewed, keeping his hand against his mouth, fingers digging into his cheek.

     He stood up out of the bin, one hand gripping the rim, the other still pressed against his lips. He leaned his head back as he swallowed, the bitter taste staying behind. He had to fight his body to not immediately throw it back up.

     In an alleyway he laid on his back, hands over his stomach as it twisted and gurgled in pain. It wasn't worth it.

     A week passes by, and he felt like he was deteriorating, both by mind and body. A walking corpse it felt like. Maybe he really did die in that shipwreck, and now he was in Hell? It certainly felt like it. The only saving grace was that the captain was nowhere to be found.

     The folks of this town all saw him as a stray, even directly calling him such. A human with no owner, free to roam the streets. It was so humiliating, as they even treated him like some feral mutt or feline.

     People would throw fish at him to eat. Others would make him perform "tricks" for food, being fed from their forks. Other people would pull his hair and kick him for fun.

    The only choice was to get out of here completely. Surely The Docks weren't the only place in this world. They needed a map. God, there was so much to do, and so much to watch out for. Trying to do it all starving, cold, and in pain was nearly impossible.

     If he could manage to clean himself up and hide his ears like that first time out on The Docks, he could pretend to just be another one of them. But by now, everyone around has seen the stray. He worried greatly someone would attempt to "take him in" or that the captain would come to find him. He dreaded what would await him if that happened.

     But if he were going to do it, it had to be soon. He could feel it getting colder. Winter was coming.

     The following days they spent hiding in the streets where what can only be described as a form of Hell.

     They were curled up in a ball under the bridge, more miserable than they had ever been in all their 26 years. They were wet, freezing, and dirty, covered in their own period blood. Not to mention the cramps, nausea, headaches, and general pain and brain fog that came with it. They felt so dysphoric and disgusting, but at least now they were considered too repulsive to rape.

     They had no idea what to do. They didn't want to die, they just wanted the misery to stop. But it seemed like death was now the only way that was going to happen.

     They could feel a fever start to burn on their forehead, throat becoming scratchy. Now they could add sickness to the list. Don't forget about how thirsty they were, or how hungry, or even how horny they were this time of the month. The world was out to break them, and it succeeded.

     There was no brightside, despite how hard they tried to find one. Is it worth it? This, for the adventure of being in some strange dimension?

     They scoffed at their own thoughts, and mumbled outloud, "Absolutely fucking not." Their voice hoarse, cracked, and broken.

     They had always hated staying in one spot. Now all they could dream about was their grandmother's coastal cottage, in a warm bed, next to a sizzling fire, with a cup of tea and a cat on their lap. It wasn't exciting, nor adventurous, but it was what they needed.

     They were sick of adventures.

     They just wanted to be on Earth, on land, with their family. But that dream was gone long before they ended up here. He didn't have a family, or a home.

     Everything was gone, and hopefully, when he closed his eyes, he'd be, too.

-----

     It was warm. Why... why was it warm? Why...

     Rudy sleepily opened his eyes. He was laying on a pile of rags in what could only be described as an exceptionally cozy dungeon.

     They were wearing no clothes, and were still covered in both grime and their own bodily fluids. They were disoriented not just from waking up somewhere they didn't fall asleep at, but also from the sickness that plauged them. Their head was fuzzy, as was their entire body. He felt numb, and lightheaded, and before he even knew it he was clutching an old wooden bucket, vomiting inside it.

     Resting his head and arms against the rim of the bucket, he caught his breath as he returned to reality. Beads of sweat fell into the bucket as he waited to see if he was going to keep throwing up. It's not like there was much to throw up, anyway.

     The gurgling of his stomach and the fever he was now developing made the heat of the room begin to feel nauseating. At first it was a pleasantrie. Not so much now. They were so unbelievably dizzy. They felt like they were going to die even more so now than before. They hadn't even realized when they'd passed out, spilling the contents of the bucket all over themself as they knocked it down with them.

     The next time they awoke came with the light touch of a soft gloved hand, though they were too feverish to open thier eyes. Everything sounded muffled like they were somewhere out of reality. Rudy heard a distant, far away mumble, despite it being right next to him.

     "What a putrid thing you are."

Taglist: @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @spooksydoo

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