I am sitting behind a crate in the belly of the ship, thinking about eating. I am so hungry right now, but I can not risk my image if I went to the Captain asking for food. I'll have to sneak into the small kitchen aboard the ship and steal something when everybody is asleep. Or maybe there is a crate of apples or something down here...
I get up and stretch, working out the pains in my legs from sitting in my crouched position. I push my back with my hand while I stretch, making it give a satisfying crack all the way up my spine. I start to look around the crates, reading the outsides to see if they say what is in them. The one closest to me reads, in weathered writing, 'P.....K.....S'. Pks? What..could that be...I pry the lid open with my fingers and set it on the floor. A strong vinegar-y smell wafts upwards into my faces, making me cough and continually push my tongue out of my mouth in the hopes of getting the taste off of it. "Heeegh!" I cough and put my mouth in my shirt. After a while the smell either dissipates or I become used to it. I peer back into the wooden barrel. I sigh. Anything is better than nothing. I put my hand in and scoop out a rather large pickle. I take a bite, and my mouth burns..
"Horchgharhg!" I hack, but I keep eating. I will not let this pickle best me!
About ten minutes later I had successfully defeated the pickle. I looked down at its corpse and gloat in triumph. No one can hurt my pride and get away with it!
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Half-Elf Stowaway
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