The Ship of Death

Many of us started, but only a few remained on the big wooden ship that would take us to America, the continent that someone “Columbus” discovered.

We started with dreams for a new life. Ireland offered us nothing, the rich oppressed the poor, the poor didn’t have enough money to feed their families, and every winter was harder than the last.

They told us about the New World, how many families moved there and became rich, and they filled us with ambitions. A country that does not distinguish, a brand-new country where opportunities are not diminishing, a newly born country that would accept us without question. They assured us that we are the generation that would raise it, that with determination and effort, we would call it our homeland.

So, it was not long before we climbed, with my husband and our two children, on the imposing ship with the deep blue sails. We sold our house and animals and set out for the unknown with few possessions, hoping for a better life.

The ship was full of compatriots with the same desire. We recognized the poverty in their eyes and the new dreams implanted by this great journey. We set sail cheerfully, full of expectations, and finally met a fate worse than the last.

At first, a few got sick, starting with vomiting, fever, and stomach pains. A few days later, they were spitting blood, pale and exhausted, praying for an end to their sufferings. The first bodies fell, and as time passed, the number grew. Misery spread on the ship, the population dwindled, and almost no one could escape. Like a ghost haunting the deck, the happy and promising smiles were erased from our faces. With death in our company, we anxiously awaited the next victim.

The curse, they said, from the rich we defied and left behind. Others spoke of witches who came aboard with us and did the work of Satan. We were all looking for the source of the plague until the priest who accompanied us fell victim to it. The captain didn’t make it either, and the sailors were steering the ship blindly, fighting the wild, angry waves. We prayed to God not to continue our punishment and to forgive us for daring to renounce the homeland he gave us.

We had no choice but to throw the bodies into the sea. During the long journey, I saw my husband thrown into the sea immediately after my little daughter.

When we arrived, at last, in the blessed land. I held my sick son in my arms. His symptoms were advanced. We were immediately quarantined to avoid infecting the natives who arrived before us with our incurable disease. No one approached us, and I saw my son’s soul abandoning him in the corner of the sealed stable, another bitter blow from God’s punishment. And now, it’s my turn. With lost hope for tomorrow, I wait alone to lose my soul in an unknown cursed land.

Created by Diana Chemeris

Story in Greek link below:

Δημοσιεύτηκε από τον dianachem

Fairy Tales May Be Real


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