Our Demise 🌈

4 - Insults

Markus wasn't exactly foreign to the feeling of hatred. He knew that consuming, dark heat in his stomach all too well. At the age of eleven, he and his little sister had been stolen from their family during the war. Being sold as a slave, he had been working his ass off on a coffee plantation for four years. One day, a befriended slave persuaded him to join him during an attempt to escape, using the naive boy as a distraction to get away himself. The thirty lashes had almost killed Markus; the wounds had started to infect and his master believed him to be a waste of space, selling him to a captain who was known for using slaves instead of a normal crew so he didn't have to pay any attention to their well-being. 

The raiders that took him away from his family, the slave master of the plantation and the gruesome captain—he had hated them from the depths of his soul. They had been cruel, no matter how obedient Markus had been. 

This time, the darkness that was churning inside his stomach was different. That arrogant little brat had done him no harm as the other men had done—and still, Markus couldn't stand the sight of him. He had believed that giving the boy the lowest job aboard would satisfy him, convincing him they were even after the lack of respect the brat had shown him. Yet, there was still this anger slumbering in his heart, which was flaring up every time the boy's stormy eyes stared right into his. 

Markus had wanted to break his spirit, to give him a little lesson in humility. However, nothing could extinguish the fierceness in the boy's eyes. He carried out all the tasks with a blank face, his lips curling into a provoking grin when nobody else was around. The kid knew what Markus was trying, and every glance or smirk felt like a sign of rebellion. Markus told himself the boy was only keeping up appearances; he hated to wash their clothes like a fucking maid, not to mention scrubbing the shit barrels, and the only satisfaction he derived from it was Markus' response to his silent mocking. 

"The galley is all shiny again, master," the boy huffed, tossing the rags at his feet. He looked up, the grey of his eyes full of contempt. 

Markus gritted his teeth. It had been four days since they had allowed the crew of Imo Gen on their ship, and with every day the boy's contempt for him grew. 

"Go clean out the cages," he said. "'t Has been a week."

The blonde's face tensed, making Markus grin. "It's just pig 'n chicken shit. Has to be a piece of cake after stickin' yer nose in human shit."

The kid eyed him up and down. "Some men don't differ that much from pigs."

Markus' hand itched to slap the boy in the face. However, as much as he hated it, he had no right to do so. As low as the kid's rank was, he was still one of them and his captain wouldn't approve of any violence. Not as a response to some childish comment. 

In silence, Markus watched the boy descend the stairs. Once the kid was out of sight, he kept leaning against the railing a little longer. Drops of water were splashing up, coming from the waves hitting the side of the ship. He still wasn't sure about his role on the ship. Rogier had more or less promoted him as a supervisor and even though Markus made a round now and then to see if everyone was carrying out his tasks, he didn't know what else he should aim his attention at. 

Many of the new guys had more experience at sea than he had. He had only been a simple sailor, he was better at following orders than at giving them, even though he hated it. He wished he possessed the insight to give orders, so he wouldn't be standing in the shadow of his friend the whole time. 

After a round of inspection across the deck, he went down the stairs to the hold to keep an eye on Rory. Shoveling shit was one thing, being watched by someone while doing it was even more humiliating.