The fog filled the place. we can hear the sound of waves' agony on the shore, and the reader may feel the smell of salty air invading his nasal cavities and freezing again in his pulmonary system. The sound of metallic chains break the silence, or at least what sounded like silence, – silence is how we define the endless monotony of sounds and voices around us that are of the same level for a relatively long period of time, till they become the benchmark for other sounds, which should be louder to be heard–. The chain is of an anchor, announcing the ship is leaving, or that of a slave interrupting his daily routine (or resuming one, how would you know?). The moist cloth bag on my shoulder makes me feel the night endlessly longer. I can't hear the horn of my ship coming yet... still staring at the horizon and trying to see through the fog for a small swinging light and a captain calling my name.
Words are too many to keep in my mind.