I'd rather sleep with the sea creatures of the deep before I share a cabin with the Herems.
The cabin itself has a homey familiarity similar to one of many of Malachi's ships that I worked aboard on. A mouldy rectangular-shaped wooden space, our luggage shoved to one wall, stacked on top of each other. With hanging hammocks, each outfitted with lumpy-looking pillows and mattered blankets.
At least the unoccupied ones will create an illusion of distance between the ones that are.
The hammocks loop through the entire room, dispersed but densely packed into the meagre-sized cabin. We all tread in cautiously, as if wary of any animal that might sprout from nowhere. The Herems' faces wrinkle with every step, the horrific odour only strengthening; a stench of soured milk and rotten food. I sniff the air as if smelling fresh leaden bread as a rancid taste smears itself on my tongue.
