Sailing To Freedom

Slaves dream of freedom like the starving dream of food.
I pondered this as I went below decks to check on our passengers.
Well, they were more like cargo, to tell the truth.
The shifting of chains in the darkness. A moan. A shout.
Never singing. They were too sick to sing.
Poor bastards.
Regulations called for a mid-trip survival check, but nobody was crazy enough to walk in the middle of that sea of savagery.
I closed the hatch and asked the navigator: “How much longer?”
“Two days, and we’ll see the Liberian coast,” he said.
And then, freedom.