Tom was lying in his soft, safe bed in Portsmouth, England. A feeling of complete tranquility and relaxation was in him. It wasn't the most comfortable bed, only a cot really, but today it felt deserving of a king. It was strange, being back in Portsmouth after all this time. He hadn't been there for several years. He'd been too busy making a living for himself. And they were hard times, too, in his line of work. One couldn't just shuffle on home any time one wanted to, no sir. He never did take any useless vavations. He wondered what had gotten him to do so now. The reason eluded him. In fact, he couldn't recall having traveled home at all. It certainly wasn't like him. Something was off. A restlessness came over him, and his bed suddenly felt weird to lie in. The textures weren't at all right. It was grainy, like corn, or uncooked rice. He couldn't recall his bed being this hot, either. Portsmouth wasn't what one would call a warm town any day of the year, yet the way he sweated it felt like he was inside someone's forge. Some bird squacked, snapping his train of thought in half. He opened his eyes, and couldn't understand a thing. Had his old 'ma taken it upon herself to paint the ceiling blue? No. With her bad leg, that wouldn't do. Something was definitely off. Tom jerked up-right, and a sea of realization washed over him. Well, it wasn't as much realization as it was sea; the sensation knocked the breath out of him as he felt salt water engulf him. Reflexively gagging and spluttering once it receded, he stumbled onto two legs. He shook his head and water flew every which way from his tangly, black hair. Having collected himself somewhat, he looked around. This was definitely not Portsmouth. Portsmouth consisted of a mish-mash of houses crummed together near a harbour, with more drunkards than traders or seamen. It didn't, as far as he recalled, contain sunny beaches.
Before him, the deep ocean blue stretched endlessly, the waves rolling lazily up and down the shoreline. Cluttering this view was an assortment of junk he could only call ship debris. Logs, planks, barrels, crates; anything that could float and could be found in or onboard a naval vessel had apparently made its way to that beach. Where he had lain just a moment ago, the water was already washing away the marks in the sand. No, it wasn't Portsmouth. But where was it? How had he gotten there? Visions flashed before him, of a ship. He'd been on a ship. The ship. His ship. Well, it wasn't his ship, but after numerous voyages he had begun feeling possessive of it, like any real sailor would. Another picture came to him; of him lying on a bed of planks in the middle of the ocean. Then it hit him like a wave. His whole body hurt. His head ached, his stomach growled, his joints creaked and his muscles yawned. He'd probably been out for a long time. He should probably be dead.
As Tom was counting himself lucky, something pushed him roughly. Of considerable force, it made him fall heads over heels down to the sandy floor. His face hit the ground with a thud, and Tom remarked sand to be considerably more solid than he'd have thought. Without thinking he span around to see his aggressor. Six feet tall if he was a man, with the sun at his back, a muscular, dark body loomed over him. Covering his eyes against the glaring sun, Tom quickly recognized the man before him. At the same time, he felt his doom approaching. "No", he tried to yell, but his voice failed him. "nou jy sterf", Adebese yelled in turn, and through himself at Tom. Instantly reacting, Tom met the charge, and they ended in a wrestling tumble in the sand. Adebese was stronger than Tom by a life-altering amount the way this situation was headed. He fumbled and scrambled for purchase, but Adebese simply overpowered him. Ending up flat-out and out of breath, hands encircled Tom's neck, and squeezed. He flung his arms and legs, hitting, scratching and clawing, but nothing would lift the weight of his neck. A familiar piercing sound echoed through his head, followed by an agonizing scream. A warm liquid flowed onto his face and chest. Then suddenly the weight was gone. Tom cracked open his eyes, to see Adebese stagger to his feet, wildly flailing his arms, before finally collapsing with a shuddering thump. Around them, the sand had been painted red. He gulped for breath, and scanned the vicinity for whoever had intervened. Some way over, he caught sight of two silhouttes. He couldn't make them out through the brightness. Whoever they were, he owed them his life.
Before him, the deep ocean blue stretched endlessly, the waves rolling lazily up and down the shoreline. Cluttering this view was an assortment of junk he could only call ship debris. Logs, planks, barrels, crates; anything that could float and could be found in or onboard a naval vessel had apparently made its way to that beach. Where he had lain just a moment ago, the water was already washing away the marks in the sand. No, it wasn't Portsmouth. But where was it? How had he gotten there? Visions flashed before him, of a ship. He'd been on a ship. The ship. His ship. Well, it wasn't his ship, but after numerous voyages he had begun feeling possessive of it, like any real sailor would. Another picture came to him; of him lying on a bed of planks in the middle of the ocean. Then it hit him like a wave. His whole body hurt. His head ached, his stomach growled, his joints creaked and his muscles yawned. He'd probably been out for a long time. He should probably be dead.
As Tom was counting himself lucky, something pushed him roughly. Of considerable force, it made him fall heads over heels down to the sandy floor. His face hit the ground with a thud, and Tom remarked sand to be considerably more solid than he'd have thought. Without thinking he span around to see his aggressor. Six feet tall if he was a man, with the sun at his back, a muscular, dark body loomed over him. Covering his eyes against the glaring sun, Tom quickly recognized the man before him. At the same time, he felt his doom approaching. "No", he tried to yell, but his voice failed him. "nou jy sterf", Adebese yelled in turn, and through himself at Tom. Instantly reacting, Tom met the charge, and they ended in a wrestling tumble in the sand. Adebese was stronger than Tom by a life-altering amount the way this situation was headed. He fumbled and scrambled for purchase, but Adebese simply overpowered him. Ending up flat-out and out of breath, hands encircled Tom's neck, and squeezed. He flung his arms and legs, hitting, scratching and clawing, but nothing would lift the weight of his neck. A familiar piercing sound echoed through his head, followed by an agonizing scream. A warm liquid flowed onto his face and chest. Then suddenly the weight was gone. Tom cracked open his eyes, to see Adebese stagger to his feet, wildly flailing his arms, before finally collapsing with a shuddering thump. Around them, the sand had been painted red. He gulped for breath, and scanned the vicinity for whoever had intervened. Some way over, he caught sight of two silhouttes. He couldn't make them out through the brightness. Whoever they were, he owed them his life.