Vojislav & Marcus sat at the corner of the ship--Huddled up--Their heartbeats matching the low thrum of ship. Slav's gaze was low, glued to the ground--His eyes were hollow, shaken--Just fed up with life. Marcus tilted his head--Slav... are you okay? he asked, his voice draped with concern.
Slav didn't even look at him, his eyes stayed fixed to the ground--Then his voice came out raspy, what are we going to do now? Marcus's eyes fell--We are probably going to be put in this camp that the others are talking about.
Slav shot him a look--What camp? he asked. Marcus continued, "it's the military--The byzantine army" he finished.
Slav's jaw ticked--These insolents...he then clenched his fist--The army...something that he swore to never to partake--He then closed his eyes, as the thoughts of him playing with his father flashed through his mind--Then what seemingly looked wholesome--turned grim--As Ruthenia was under attack--And his father was giving himself up for duty.
He had given him farewell--Clinging onto the hope that-just maybe he will come back.
Slav's jaw then clenched as he felt hot tears flowing down his cheek--He then wiped it away in a careless manner--Who is this all for? he asked, voice bitter, as he stared at Marcus with a blood-shot eyes.
He then sighed--Emperor Augustus of Byzantium--He has given the order of capturing slaves like us--Slav's hands shot up in the air--Do not even... his voice was low--Yet lethal
Marcus sighed, looking away--This duty was given to his stepson--Flaytus.
Flaytus... a name that felt bitter against his tongue as his eyes darkened--He knew he wasn't going to love this Flaytus.
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He sat, quill held with precision--As he dipped the sharp part into the viscous ink--His hands then moved swift, Eyes wandering in thoughts: My childhood... what was it? For--I don't remember the very last thing I wore before I was taken here. My now father--The merciful Agustus had granted me the permission to go to my homeland Ruthenia. Homeland... What does the soil feel like? what about the people? We are soon going to be on a campaign there-Marching down on the streets. Witnessing the burning of houses--Hearing the panic-yelling and sheer pain of the common people--This wasn't what I wanted--Though somehow this is what I was destined for.
I feel dirty--Not a part of my heart is clean--Though years ago--There was one... a fiery passionate flame--that had now seemingly disappeared--As if it never ignited on the first place.
It was of Eleanor--My friend, my first love--Her innocent laughter, and her easy-going heart could move mountains. That was the only pure thing I had--Before that was too taken away...
Maybe I'm just not meant to be happy...Maybe I'm destined to be morally flawed forever...