Mackrl Gally D4 (Fin)

Blood and salt water. Something about the smell of blood and salt water makes a morning on the boat complete.
"We should head in" My fathers voice rasps against my face.

Uaru Galley is way too old to be out on the seafoam this morning. He was too old when he was a young man, I imagine, if he ever was one. 
"Your mother wants you back in for training." He says in that unmistakable cadence of an old man who has recently lost a fight with a young woman.

I smile at him. My grin cuts across my broad face. I take my thumb and place it on my nose signaling the brittle old man. Signalling what, I'm not sure. It's just one of those things, unplaceable in time and space. There does not exist a word for every idea. Perhaps it's just a son telling his father, "I'll be ok."

I walk away from the man, pretending to balance myself on an invisible plank that takes up the entirety of my father's enormous boat. My long legs knock together a bit. I've grown 7 in the last year. I think that's what changed everything. I went from a short stocky kid to a 6 ft 1 Goliath (at least when compared to my father) so fast I guess I didn't have a chance to get the hang of things.

I come to a bucket of water at the aft of the ship, and I dip my hands in. My reflection is wavy. My thin eyes look like a braided green ovals. I dip my bloody hands into the basin and dry them on my shirt. 

"If we're headed in, I'll pull up the nets." I shout back at my fathers chair. I don't know if he heard me, and I'm not sure i care. I crack my back and take off my shirt. I have trouble getting my arms out. My shoulders are narrow, but my arms are so long, I can hardly get the damned thing off.

My mother, Mahi Galley, (my fathers 5th wife) would scold me for being out here this morning. She is convinced that she has raised a contender for the games. I'm not so sure. I'm kind of gawky. Unbalanced. But no one ever loved to be near glory the way my mother does. 

I force my hands into the water and salt scrapes my open wounds. These ropes need to be replaced. They cut my hands damn near every time I'm out here. Although I rather like to bleed. It's freeing. Cleansing. "Pain is not something to be avoided" My mother's voice rings through my memory "it is a blessing. It reminds the body that we still have control. We still have feeling. We are still free" 

I go to pull the net in, and I see my harpoon. Still reeling from the orca we slayed last month. The great fish' guts were still upon it. I smirk just enough. my heart races as I remember the thrill of warm blood splashing my face. The stench was delicious. but the look in the beasts eye? I don't know of a day that has gone by since that I haven't dreamed of that look. I'm slowly coming to grips with the fact that I can be an avatar of pain. and it scares me almost as much as it delights my mother.

I pull the first net in. Scallops! Thank god. I am starving. I feel like I'm always starving. I look to see if the old man is looking my way. He's not. I grab a shell and -as quietly as I can- crack the mollusk open and slurp it down. It's godamned delicious. There is nothing like live food.

"Hey old man!" I shout back at my father. "We got Scallops! Loads of em!"

"Pull them in, and lets go home."

As I pull the nets up from the aft of the ship, I close my eyes. Sea air and smokey bivalve oil fill my lungs. I tighten my lids and suddenly I'm 5  years old. I'm sitting crosslegged on some old rope,watching my older half brother (Pike) and my father pull the clams and mussels off of the nets. Pike taught me how to schuck clams that year. He took his knife and slit a space right under the shell and -Pop!- the clam opened up and released it's bounty.

-Shit!-

Daydreaming has left me unware that this net I'm pulling in caught a small angry blue crab. little jerk grabbed my ring finger and left a pretty big gash. I pry him off and toss him into the sea. He bounces once on the water.

I really miss my brother. He was Avoxed last summer. I don't really know why. He moved out when he got married, and started captaining his own boat. My mom says he was turned in for stealing food, but that never made sense to me. My brother was the greatest fisherman that ever lived. He wouldn't have to steal food.

Lately my mother has been really pushy that I start training. I'm fine with it, I suppose. I don't really have much to live for. I am the youngest son, of one of the oldest families in the district. I never stood a chance. I've always been free. Perhaps the training is just my moms way of honing that freedom into something stronger.

"All done! I shout back at my father" And we set sail back home.