Dave's Sandal Saga

Dave was a swordsman.

He wasn’t a very good one, he wasn’t very lucky, but he did have two swords. And those were his most valuable possessions.

He had never killed anyone before and was fairly sure he couldn’t kill anyone now.

His mother had sent him to America because of his bad luck. She said it was either that or she would send him to God. Dave doubted she would even know how to do that since she hadn’t been to church in years so he figured he would give the New World a try.

It had taken him six months to get across the ocean and he spent the first three months on board in the hold with what seemed like an endless supply of rats and rotting garbage. He tried not to think about whether any of it was actually food or if there were rats hidden under the piles. The smell alone was enough to make him sick and stay in his hammock for almost three days straight, barely sleeping and trying not to move lest he be eaten by vermin.

The crew was nice enough though they all spoke some strange language and kept looking at him funny whenever he tried to talk to them, but they gave him food when he needed it which was more than could be said for anyone back in England.

He hadn’t seen his mother since then and probably wouldn’t until after he found some money and a place for himself. He wrote her letters as best as he could but wasn’t sure if she would ever read them or even care about where he was or if he was dead or alive so no point wasting money on postage stamps.

Dave didn’t know how much time passed between then and when the ship finally docked in New York City but it felt like years.

He remembered that day well though, despite being exhausted from all the time in the hold, once they hit land Dave ran up on deck with everyone else and watched with wide eyes as everything happened around him, oblivious to everyone else's discomfort around the dog-like smell that hadn't left him in weeks.

When the boat made its way up onto land Dave jumped off first thing even though that meant wading through shallow water up past his knees, soaking his shoes and knocking over the person behind him who yelled at him angrily even though he didn't understand what they said. He just wanted out of there as quickly as possible without getting eaten by sharks or whatever lived in water that deep because if there was one thing Dave knew for certain it was that no one had ever come back from being eaten by a shark before.

Once on solid ground Dave walked as fast as he could away from the docks holding up his pants legs and shoes out of the sludgy water that covered everything around him until eventually exhaustion overtook fear and came crashing down on top of him like an ocean wave crashing against the shoreline, leaving him breathless on the dirty pavement beneath him while waves of nausea crashed over him again and again until all thought fled from his mind except for one:

What now?