Seven Days

____________  _Seven Days    ____________

Day One

         A worthy vessel, Xerxes; majestic and steadfast. Until storms drove us on a reef and her hull came undone by the coral shards. An unfortunate turn of events. Of the rest—the crew and the others—I fear the worst. I survived, but barely. I’m drifting in unknown seas clinging to the remnants of a once-stalwart mast.

Day Two

         I encounter the stinging tentacles of a Portuguese Man-o-War today, and my body now heaves from the poisons it delivered during that untoward encounter. In my delirium, I thrash unwisely against the monster making the matter worse. My breath is labored now, and I feel it may fail altogether. The blisters are many; white and agonizing.

Day Three

         Exile in oblivion. Floating effortlessly, I mercifully regain consciousness only once today. During the night, a steady rain pelts my back, retrieving me from the brink. Using a tattered yet watertight yard of sail canvas, I hold it against the storm to collect a small puddle.

Day Four

         No precipitation. Blood runs freely from my swollen, cracked lips. I use the clotting ooze and a sliver of mast wood to scratch this journal. Without doubt, the text will fade, despite its being baked in the intense sun. The currents are slight in these waters.

Day Five

         My vision fades, the other senses as well. It is night, and the skies are clear. The moon is my torch. I know now that I will not live to be counted as a survivor of this wretched mishap. I plan to empty my flask of spirits tonight. I do not expect to see many more sunrises.

Day Six

         The end is here, then, and this is my last entry. In an unexpected event, my fate has been quickly made certain. A predatory beast, seizing an opportunity as I relieved myself, severed my leg mid-thigh as it dangled in the water. The remainder of my life leaks freely into the sea. I must hurry now, as the blood-perfumed waters summon others.

                                       

~

         I wipe a salty crust from my brow and look to the horizon.  A dismal vision; pure nothing in all directions. I roll the ragged canvas into a tight scroll and push it once more into the shiny golden flask. After replacing the cap tightly, I play with the lights that reflect from its pristine surface. In a while, I will return the flask to the waters from which it was drawn.

         I pull my knife from my wet pants pocket; it is the only thing that has survived the wreck aside from the dingy in which I am adrift. After freeing the tiny blade, I begin to carve into the wooden planks of my small craft:



Day One…