After our ship sank, we gathered what we could of the floating debris, lashing the planks together and climbing aboard.
Every night there was a lights show in the glassy sea.
We soon lost count of the days, trying our best to consciously repress the memory of what we had done to poor Davidson, his flesh still in our teeth.
After what seemed like weeks, we knew what had to be done. We drew straws and mine came up short. That night, as the stars came out, I slipped into the sea and began swimming into the depths.
If I pleaded with the glowing monsters beneath the waves, they might take pity on us and perhaps drag our makeshift raft to dry land. The plan had seemed so simple that we forgot you cannot breath underwater, let alone plead for your life.
This didn't come into my mind even as I drifted down into the inky black.
End.
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