The salty, arid air of the ocean waves clap, rock my sail. I pry open my eyes, the white light blinds my vision, recovers when my wearied body pumps the last bits of life into me. Recollecting the enigmatic position of me, in the middle of nowhere, in the midst of the nonentity waters, where help is far from reach. I crawl up, assisted by the wooden structure of my one-man sail, no foods around, no people, just me, my sail, and a half-broken pedal.
Where… am… my cognitive sense kicks in a beat slower as I am deprived of water, food, energy. What… should… integrating the situation, my dire location. Am… I… stranded…?
I crouch down, pulling my hair, head hung low, staring into the wood of the sail. Blurring vision, I keep myself up, There’s… something… my mind is rekindling some crumbs to the past. I… need… to…
Live. There was a familiar apparition walking toward the sunset. Her sleek body, her unkempt tresses, her peculiar gait, her perfect imperfections, I recognise them by a glance.
I sail north, according to my nautical sense, not knowing the hostile territory lying ahead. A slight amnesia hit me, I forget that I am a wanted man, a pirate.
Splash. I need to get to her. Splash. She is the only one.
A black, metallic sphere gradually taken form in front of me. It is a cannon shell. A death warrant signed by me voluntarily. I embrace it with open arms, hoping she is waiting for me in the hereafter.
Craving for more? Down below.