March Before The Tide

The Sinking Ship

Erin hated the sea. Water in general, really. She felt like it would swallow her up, crush the air out of her lungs. But she had never really known true fear of it before. Before now.

She didn't really remember who she was before the ship. Before the crash. Was there even a crash? Was there even a before? Or had it always been like this? Trapped in her room, waiting for the outside to become the inside?

Her room was cramped. Erin barely had enough space to walk around, and it wasn't helped by the furniture all over the place. And it was cold. It pierced through her shirt like knives. And the only blankets were soaked. So she just stayed cold.

How had they even gotten like that? Her room was dry, wasn't it? The water was just out there.

Out there. Erin's only view of the outside was the window. All she could see out there was the blackness. Surely the water pressure at this point should have been enough to break the window, right? But it was still there. The only thing keeping her safe. And the door was there too. It protected her.

The alarm hurt. It hurt her ears. How was it even still working? Surely the water would have gotten into the circuits. And yet, it still screamed, making Erin's ears bleed.

Erin wondered if there was anyone else in this ship. Trapped in their own rooms, waiting for the glass or the door to break. She hoped not. She didn't want anyone else to face this.

A drop of water hit Erin's head. She looked up. She hadn't even considered what she was pretty sure was once a wall, though now it may as well have been a ceiling. There was a crack. And inky black water was dripping from it. Erin panicked. But she was also, somehow, relieved. Finally, the torment would be over, the sea would swallow her up and she would be gone.

But the water continued to just drip, slowly, methodically, onto her head, as Erin just stood there, watching it, waiting for the crack to widen, for the slow drip to quicken, for anything. But it never came.

The room was still so cramped. Had it been this cramped before? Were the walls closing in on her, finally folding under the pressure? Or had they always been this small?

Water was leaking from under the door. Or beside it. Or above it. Direction didn't mean much anymore, as the ship fell through the abyss. Would that water be enough? Erin knew it wouldn't be. Erin knew that nothing would be, until it was.

After hours or days or months or years or decades, Erin made a decision. She piled the furniture high, making something of a staircase to the door. And, as tears quietly fell from her face, she climbed. And, when she reached the door, she tried to turn the handle. And it wouldn't move. There was no escape.

Erin pounded on the door, kicked it, slammed into it with all her might, but it refused to move. It just stayed still, not even damaged. She tried breaking the window, but it wouldn't move either, it wouldn't even crack. And so Erin sat down, and she cried. She sobbed for what felt like forever, even as the movement of the ship collapsed the pile of furniture and left her battered and bruised, she just laid there and she cried.

After what must have been eons of sobbing, Erin stopped, and just laid there. Waiting. Waiting for something to happen. And when it didn't, she had a thought. Was it ever going to? Was this her torment? Cursed to wait forever for a death that would never come? And so Erin did her best to organize her room. And she tried to ignore the pressure.

As Erin continued to do her best to make the most out of her situation, the fear that her death would come faded. She'd certainly been here long enough that she should have died of asphyxiation or starvation. Perhaps she would never die. Perhaps she was safe.

And then the glass cracked. And that sound, the sound of the window beginning to splinter, and the wood of the door seconds later, sent a chill down Erin's spine. All of a sudden, all of that anxiety, that terror, was back in an instant. Those cracks began to spread, inching through the glass that she was now watching with terror, until it should have surely broken, split apart by that pressure, shattered into the billion pieces that still barely held together, and, as Erin stared at that glass and the abyss beyond, she reached up to it, and, even as she tried to pull her hand away, as she felt her face light up with horror and heard her mouth scream as loud as it could, she tapped the window, felt the glass finally give way under her hand, and the water poured in.