Con Amore: Envy

by Sasjah Miller

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This one is particularly irritating. I have taken up place at the beakhead but even then the earplugs canít keep out the mindless giggling at Jackís sad attempts at humor and when she comes she wails like a banshee; a screeching counterpoint to Jackís low-pitched grunts. I doubt she even understands a word of what heís mumbling to her.

Nine bloody days already in this hellhole port without him even as much as /looking/ at his violin.

Or me.

And the refitting is nowhere near completion.

I should have joined the landing party in their search for a new mizzenmast.

 

The End

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