Our passage pitched and rolled its way past the jagged cliffs of St. Mozen Pt. Through the small porthole I watched as the glinting lights of my village faded into the salty, early morning mists.
I had been wrong, I’d said so in court. It weren’t my wheat, but my wife and boys was starving. Surely any man would have done the same – any man.
“Transportation,” the judge had said. Not a quiver of emotion in his voice.
“Should’ve ‘anged him!” some in the raucous gallery had grumbled.
Ahead now lay months at the mercy of the oceans. Never again to see the lights of home.
These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.