The ocean was endless, it seemed to go on for ever. Slow swollen waves lapped a gentle request on the hull, softly calling for attention. He heeded and looked through the distorted glass at the vast forever outside. The scale of forever was days in comprehension. The wonder, almost enough to abate the sadness. Almost. His heart ached and he turned to memory for comfort. Pietro had seemingly spent half his life down in the port waiting for his father to return in his blue wooden boat. Staring out to see, straining his eyes in search of the tiny little speck on the horizon. That one spot, so small and distant, would send such a surge of happiness through his young heart that it would take all the restraint he could muster not to leap off the harbour wall and try to swim out to meet him.

He'd been fishing too but he never felt lost. Not like this. This was different. Everything about it was different. The boat was huge, cramped and crammed with other faces, all looking as lost and afraid as he felt. He pressed his body up against the iron wall and looked through the little round porthole. The air was rich with salt and sickness. The fresh world outside mixed with the steadily increasing illness within. His heart ached from misunderstanding and he yearned for a known voice to tell him everything was alright. To tell him it would be ok. The boy next to him wept constantly and even wet himself. Pietro was annoyed by his open weakness, though inside he felt everything the other boy displayed. He remembered a few harsh words and dark looks from his father whenever he showed weakness. The belt had taught him not to cry. The lessons were real, as was the love. His father had loved him. There was strength in everything they did. Love with the most passion, work with the most possible diligence, fight with all the ferocity you could and speak with a sincerity the matter deserved and drink like this day was the last you might ever have here. In life. 

"Pietro?"

The adult woke from his youthful memory and looked at his friend. A momentary daze before recognition, as if he'd been asleep but he hadn't. In a sense he had though. A sad memory made for a happier place to be than this. What did that say about the now? The horrible now. All awareness of the present came flooding back and the horrible decision in front of him could be avoided with no more fantasy.

"What do you want to do with him, Pietro?"

This was critical. Spare a life and endure repercussion? or surrender his soul and save his future? Lives are decided in such moments. This was his.

"Kill him."

The decision was made. The bullet traveled it's horrible path and sent the terrified man back to god. He was in heaven now, and now heaven was a place Pietro would never know. His path was chosen. The future was still open but his end was secured. His eyes darkened as he turned away. The light of memory's child, gone. Forever now. The finality of that moment was crushing. He left the building and walked down the street in search of solitude and a bottle.