Chapter 1
There once was a boy who was convinced that life was pointless. That he was having a hard time flushing someone else’s shit, in the most horrible toilet, on the ugliest ship, on both the surface and the bottom of the sea, did no help to convince him otherwise.
His name was Dante, but the crew called him Dee.
“Dee,” Otto said, “you’re not doing it again, are you?”
Otto was the other cabin boy of Ahab’s Revenge who saw no better use of his time than to talk to a closed toilet cubicle.
“No.” Dante’s muffled voice from inside the cubicle said.
“You better not. They won’t let you off the hook this time.”
“I’m not doing it again, I swear.”
“You said the same thing the last time.”
“I crossed my heart this time.”
“You did that too.”
“I mean it, I won’t.”
“Lie,” Otto said.
Otto wasn’t the sharpest cabin boy of Ahab’s Revenge but he knew Dante too well to tell apart when his friend was telling the truth or making up a tall tale.
“Do I sound like I’m lying?” Dante said.
“No,” Otto said. “What you sound like is an imbecile whose looking for trouble again.”
“Just hand me the paint, will you?”
“Did they leave you a message again?”
Otto kicked the can lying on the wet mucky floor into the open gap below the cubicle door. He himself had just finished painting over sketches of penises and testicles from his share of the cubicles.
“Suppose I were to do it though,” Dante said, “now would be the best time. Don’t you think?”
“Don’t -”
“No better time of the day or day in the week.” Dante cut Otto off. “Everyone’s on the main deck. Most, if not all, are probably pissed already that they won’t see me coming.”
Dante heard no response so he knew Otto just took the bait.
“I’m not the first person to do this too, you know.” Dante continued. “I heard about this cabin boy from a Spanish ship. He probably was sick already of cleaning toilets and having to clean up after the crew that he decided he just had about enough already. So he took a shotgun from the armory, waited until everyone was in the same room, fired a shot, declared he was taking over, and ordered everyone to abandon ship.”
“Did they?” Otto asked.
“Did they what?” Dante said grinning behind the door, know- ing that his friend just swallowed his story, hook, line, and sinker.
“Jump off the ship.”
“No, they didn’t, you moron.”
“Then why are you telling me your stupid story?”
“Everybody on the ship knew that the shotgun can only be fired once then you’ll have to reload. So they jumped him immediately after the shot. Story goes, he’s still alive. They just beat him to siesta early.” Dante paused to let his little story sink in, then he continued. “Point of the story is, it’s been done. Had the boy been smarter and maybe had he had two guns, or maybe somebody else with him, somebody like you, he’d probably be roaming free now in the Mainland and is well on his way to Kowloon.”
“Not The Mainland again,” Otto said.
“If you don’t like The Mainland, we could go somewhere else. Anywhere but the North.”
“You really hate it here, don’t you?”
“I don’t hate it,” Dante said. “I just … don’t like it.” He doubted Otto would know the difference but he didn’t know how else it could be said.
“Same thing,” Otto said.
“Besides,” Dante said, “these morons have been pushing me to the edge lately. I thought if I was gonna end up killing one of them I’d prefer I do it in my own terms, and not have been forced to it.”
“So it’s not just taking over the ship anymore,” Otto said. “it’s killing someone too.”
“I’ll kill everybody if I have to,” Dante said.
“Why do you hate it here so much?” Otto said.
“I don’t know, Ott,” Dante said, “maybe because these morons don’t know how to fucking flush a toilet … Also, I feel like I could be slapping the McGregor’s for a job on this ship and I’d still feel like shit. Do you know what I’m saying?”
“No,” Otto said. “I like the twins. They’re funny.”
“It’s all of it,” Dante said. “Cleaning toilets in the middle of the day isn’t just it. It’s waking up the following day and the day after that knowing that you’ll be cleaning toilets again. Or if it’s not cleaning poopers, it’s something else.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Otto said.
“What’s wrong with doing the same thing over and over?”
“Yeah?” Otto said.
“Everything, you stupid fuck. You do the same thing over and over and then you die.”
“I don’t get it, Dee.”
“Of course you won’t. I’ve seen a goldfish with a bigger brain between its eyes.”
“Hey,” Otto complained. “I may be cleaning toilets but at least I get by fine.”
“Compared to what? And is that all you want, to ‘get by fine’?”
“I’m fine being a fisherman after I’ve done my time here, if you mean that,” Otto said, “and I’ll be fine being a fisherman until I’m dead.” Otto paused furrowing his brows. “You know what, if you’re so smart, what are you gonna do -?”
Before Otto could finish, the cubicle door opened, unleashing the pungent stunk of a day-old marinated turd on piss. Standing inside was a skinny, shirtless, tattooed, thirteen-year-old boy with red paint all over his face dripping down to his chest. He was holding a paintbrush and a can of paint.
“I’ll find life’s meaning.” Dante declared.
