Blood In The Water

I was 24 years old and my only wish was to see the ocean. I had read about it in books however, I had only seen it in my dreams. I longed to feel the soft sand squishing between my toes. I fantasized about the cool spray of particles formed by the ocean touching my face, and dampening my hair. Sometimes I could even smell the bracing, salt air enswathing me as I closed my eyes. I guess you could say that "this was much more than a dream of mine. It was an aspiration."

There are no words that can delineate the shock and surprise that I felt when my father heralded the exciting news. "We are going to the ocean!" He had rented an ocean boat to take us on our adventure. The Lagoon 380 Catamaran was a beautiful and alluring piece of machinery. My breath caught when I first laid eyes upon my chariot. The seagulls gathered above my head as if they were preparing to chaperon the voyage.

As I stood on the warm shore, I realized that there was nothing more refreshing and calming than listening to the harmonious sound of waves, and watching lights reflecting on the sparkling surface.

The ocean before me was beautiful, captivating, respectful, dangerous, scary and worth of every admiration and awe that I was feeling. Yet an unsayable and unforeseen fear began to swell up in the depths of my stomach.

I spent much of the day sunbathing on the small yet satisfying deck while father was getting comfortable and familiar with the miniature ship that he would be piloting and navigating for the next few days.

I began to feel the panic rising up into my chest once more as I finally discovered that we were a hundred miles from the comfort and safetly of land. I squeezed my eyes shut and desperately tried to reimagine the excitement and radiance of the dreams that I had visualized for most of my life.

As night fell upon the ocean I could sense that father was becoming unsure and anxious as the dense sea-fog began rolling in from all directions. "Are you worried?" I eventually found the courage to ask. Father smiled attempted to lighten the mood.

"Arrrrrrr! Yo ho, me hearties! There is nothing to fear but fear itself!"

I giggled as he used his very best pirate impersonation. He always knew how to calm my nerves and bring a smile to my face with his frivolous, harebrained antics. It bothered me to think that he was likely creating these drolleries as an endeavor to disguise his own paranoias and uncertainties.

Suddenly our laughter was interrupted by an alarming and dreadful sound. The moaning of old wood surrounded us as black, caliginous waves slammed into our tiny lamb of a boat causing it to tumble and sway dangerously in the obscure water. Each thundering repercussion sent waves of pure anguish and fear through my veins.

With hot tears burning down my face, I threw myself into the safety of my father's arms. "What's happening?" I cried, as bleak, towering shadows engulfed us.

"Pirates!" I heard my father frantically shout, but I was unable to respond to his warning. I found myself completely frozen and disabled by fear. I watched in horror as the boat-borne attackers climbed aboard our small vessel.

It felt as if I was trapped inside of an atrocious nightmare. Reality was moving in slow motion, and I was unable to fully comprehend precisely what was happening to us. I will never forget the sight of the tattered, threadbare flag flailing and threatening us from beneath the pale, cloud covered moon.

The invaders were unlike anything that I had ever imagined a pirate resembling in my mind. There was no swashbuckling, treasure chests or plank-walking, and they were certainly not searching for gold, silver and jewels. Instead, these modern-day corsairs were covered with intimidating masks and long, water-logged trench coats. There was so many of them, our small boat was scuttling as more and more water spilled over the gunwales.

I glared up at the dreadnought ship beside of us. It was something from a tragic nightmare. The Lagoon 380 was but a lamb beneath that giant, colossal ship. A tiny, helpless lamb in the thick of blood-thirsty wolves.

I heard myself gasp as I spotted a masked raider pointing a rocket launcher directly at us. "We're going to die!" That was the only intellection that my mind could invoke. My premeditations were recklessly broke off by the familiar sound of my father's voice.

"Run, get out of here!" I heard him howl, Several of the assailants were encircling, mercilessly beating and bludgeoning. Their sickening laughter rang out across the waves as I watched crimson blood begin to bepaint the water on deck.

I frantically searched for an escape, but there was no place to run. There was no place to hide. I was at the mercy of those terrifying, gruesome savages and of the ocean which had led them to us.

I was not the best swimmer, in fact I could meagerly stay afloat. I was closer to death with each pummeling beat of my heart. I took one last look at my father's lifeless body. "I'll find help, I promise!" Even amid the chaos and monstrosity I knew that this was a broken-promise. I knew that it was already much too late.

Sheltered by the shadows cast down upon us by the guarding moon; I slipped into the numbing ocean. Whatever fate awaited me in those unknown depths was surely more bearable and sufferable than the bone-chilling horror that had invited itself onto our boat.

I felt myself sinking far beneath the surface into the cutting abyss.

A strong sleepiness settles in. My limbs grow heavier. I sink down further into the nothingness. Salt water brushes against my lips, burns my eyes, and invades my nose. I let out a deep, conclusive breath. A bitter chill seeps into my bones and weighs me down further. There is no more fear as my body screams out for rest, for escape....for death.