IN STORAGE
My family sold everything to send me abroad, where the
agent promised I would earn good wages, a hundred times more than was possible
at home.
The lorry driver packed us into crates like chickens,
where we took turns breathing through the air-hole, but when we felt the sea
beneath us we were happy. We heard English voices as a fork-lift moved our
crates, then others were placed around us, more above us, we heard metal
shutters closing, then silence.
My phone is dying, so this is my final message.
Tell my family I’m sorry.
...................................................................................
J Hardy Carroll's photo might be of a simple storage facility, but to me it looks sinister. Whenever I see images of those enormous ships with containers stacked high on deck, I wonder how many poor deluded souls are hidden inside one. I am inflicted with too much imagination! Thanks as ever to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog https://rochellewisoff.com/