The boat creaked a lot.
The creaks themselves seemed harmless, like noisy pipes in an old building.
That was until they were joined by the knocks.
Shortly after the knocks, the leaks began.
It seemed that the untreated wood of the walls let water in at the most inopportune moments.
The water was steadily filling the bilge, despite there being no obvious holes.
Trying to patch up the mess just left me full of splinters.
The water soon clutched at my thighs, a ghost of you.
It kept rising, along with the panic that bubbled inside me.
How could one safely abandon ship in such stormy weather?
But I needn't have worried.
You dropped the anchor.
It clanged to the seabed with such force that we crashed to a halt.
A halt so sudden the ship all but exploded around us.
The water lapped angrily at my chest and my eyes strained to adjust to the sudden change of light.
It was a split second that lasted forever.
A blip that aged me a lifetime.
Jaded.
Am I green with envy or just seasick?
Now I can finally see, it's clear I've been dropped into a sea full of sharks.
My wounded hands are still bleeding.
Is it still funny that I never learned to swim?
