When I was 12, I went to sea. It was a hard life, scurrying around on the ship, hiding from the sailors. I was a stowaway, you see. I wanted to see what it was like. My dad was the ship's cook. He knew I was on board. He was risking everything by not reporting me.
We used to play hide and seek, late at night. My favourite spot was in the engine room, on top of the engine itself. It was bloody dangerous up there. I won every time I went there, because my dad never wanted to climb up after me to catch me. He thought I was being "a bloody idiotic moron", as he used to say.
That is, until he decided to play along.
It was in the middle of a storm. I scampered up on top of the engine, like usual. The gears grinding were so soothing. Dad came in, searching for me. He finally spotted me on top of the engine, and sighed.
"Barry, get down from there."
"Not until you give up!"
He sighed again, and climbed up the ladder on the side. He brought himself to his full height, and the ship lurched.
He fell into the engine.
When I was 12, I went to sea.