He scrunched his knees tightly up to his chest and held his breath in an effort to fit behind the large wooden barrel. The trapdoor in the ceiling creaked open, letting a crack of sunlight into the dark room. A robust sailor made his way down the swaying rope ladder, his free hand carrying a lantern.
The man behind the barrel sucked his breath in tighter, watching the man closely. He must not be seen until they reached England. Even then he didn't know what would happen to him. The sailor began to sort the many boxes and barrels that made up the ship's cargo.
The stowaway shut his eyes silently praying that somehow he would excape the sailor's piercing eyes. Many things depended on it, his life even. He clasped his arms tighter around his legs, resting his chin on woolen covered knees. The sailor bagan to whistle a tune and he recognized it as an English one. Would they be friendly to a Huguenot?
Copyright 2012 Kate W.
Kate, I like your style! I was especially taken with the way you reveal his identity (and even some of his backstory) in the last two sentences. Very good work. I want to know where he's been in life, and where he's headed... (other than England)
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