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Alex understood that his family hadn’t had much money earlier than he should have. He realized that food was limited and had to be saved. He also understood that his father made saving even harder — every bottle of alcohol meant less food for them.
The house always smelled faintly of damp wood and cheap liquor. The floorboards creaked under every step, the walls so thin that even the whisper of the sea wind could sneak inside. On some nights, the sound of waves mixed with his father’s heavy breathing — and the clinking of bottles.
He learned to eat just enough to survive. He learned to ignore hunger. He learned to earn money by helping the neighbors with chores — carrying buckets of water, cleaning windows streaked with salt, fixing nets that smelled of fish and seaweed. His hands were always rough, his nails blackened from dirt, but he didn’t complain.
Sometimes he looked at children bigger than him, despite being younger, with envy. He knew they had plenty of food to grow like that. Their cheeks were round, their eyes bright. Some children looked like him, or even worse — the same familiar sight of ribs showing through grayish skin. They often shared a nod of understanding as they passed by, silent recognition between survivors.
They wanted to run away from this cruel place and leave James Sr. to rot.
They dreamed about it often — sitting by the harbor, watching ships disappear into the mist. The smell of the sea mixed with tar and rope, and Alex would imagine himself aboard, the wind whipping through his hair, freedom stretching endlessly ahead.
They managed to save quite a lot of money. Well... at least for them, it was a lot. They were as safe as they could be, hiding it under a floorboard beneath their bed — a small treasure wrapped in cloth. But he still found it. Their father came back one evening with three bottles. So much money — gone in a night.
“That’s not fair,” Alex complained. “We try to save money, and Dad just takes it. He’s never had to go to bed hungry! He’s never had to clean the neighbor’s house!”
His mother didn’t answer. She just sat by the window, her eyes fixed on the horizon where the sea met the sky. The dying light painted her face in shades of gold and gray. Alex knew she was listening — she always did — but the silence between them spoke louder than any words.
That night, he lay awake, his stomach aching. Outside, the wind rattled the thin walls of their house. Somewhere in the darkness, a bottle rolled across the floor, hitting the wall with a dull clink. He stared at the ceiling until dawn, counting the seconds between gusts of wind.
“The world isn’t fair,” said James quietly from the next bed. “It’s a painful, cruel place — but we have to keep living.”
Alex sniffed, his voice trembling. “It’ll be okay as long as we stay together.”
Even though he said that, he knew he would leave this island. It might take years, but the day would come when he would stand at the bow of a ship, the wind in his hair, salt on his lips — and he would take his mother and James with him. At least, that was the dream he held onto when everything else fell apart.
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Alex looked out at the sea. The wind felt colder than usual, sharp and dry, cutting through his coat like knives. The horizon was a dull, endless gray, and the waves crashed with a rhythm that reminded him of breathing — slow, tired, eternal.
He thought about his mother, buried deep in the ground — gone. He remembered lying sick in bed, sweat dripping down his temples, his mother beside him. She was crying, apologizing quietly, her voice breaking between words. He had gotten better, but she hadn’t. Her hands had grown colder each day until they didn’t move at all.
He thought about James — gone, who knows where. Alex didn’t know if he had left of his own free will or if their father had threatened him. He hadn’t received any letters, no word, no sign. Only silence — and silence on this island always felt heavy.
He was alone now. That was something he wasn’t used to.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to take you with me,” he whispered into the empty air. The wind caught his words and carried them out to sea. “I’ll keep on living — for you.”
For a moment, he thought he heard a voice in the wind — soft, almost kind — but it was gone before he could listen closer. Only the sound of waves remained.