The boy fell asleep slowly. Eyes swollen from crying. His father has left again, off to his ship again. Drunk, again. The boy had been beaten, again.
The high mountains of Japan in the background, fuzzy and smoothed by fog. The boys dream slowly was filled with ships that he thought his father commanded. Their flags flapped in the wind that wasn’t there. The sea mist splashed against the sides but the ships were not wet. The boy watched behind his eyelids to see the magnificent ships rise into the air, untouched by gravity.
Each ship had a story. Of hero’s, pirates treasure, of mutiny.
The ships were rocked by memories and pain, lulling the boy back into his soft bed.
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