The Man on the Boat

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Summary

A very short story that I wrote in my early teens. Not much happens. There's a man on a boat.

Genre:
Fantasy / Horror
Author:
Ell Mack
Status:
Complete
Chapters:
1
Rating:
5.0 2 reviews
Age Rating:
13+

The Man On The Boat

There is a man on the boat. He is alone on the boat. He reaches feebly for the bottle of water, struggling to lift it to his lips. Nothing comes out. He can’t cry. Waste of moisture.

The man on the boat holds his hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the tropical sun. His boat, less than a meter across, harbors no shelter for the man. He reaches feebly for the bottle of water, struggling to lift it to his lips. There is still nothing there. It’s the thought that counts.

The man spots something on the horizon. What is it?

The man spots nothing on the horizon. Perchance it was a mirage. Perhaps it wasn’t. All he sees is blue and blue, blue below and blue above. No clouds. Nothing but blue. The horizon displays a cut off point, the line. Where blue meets blue.

The man realises he hasn’t moved in a long time. How long? How long had he sat in this position, staring blankly between blue and black, blue and black, blue and black. Three days? He remembers three blue times. Three black times. Three days and three nights? That can’t be right.

The man reaches feebly for the bottle of water, struggling to lift it to his lips. There is nothing there. The thought counts for less and less.

The sun is indifferent. That which gave us life as a whole can take the life of the one. One.

“I am the one, but so is the sun. But the sun is also a multitude, yet I remain the one. Or am I?”.

He sits in the same position. Maybe he moved his head.

Two hundred blues, two hundred blacks. The thirst is unending. “When will it end? When will I end?”. The boat bobs forever, on the blue, under the blue.

Never did it end. “Am I dead? Is this what happens? Is this all in my head?”. The questions have driven him into the black, and out of the blue.

The end came out of the blue. Land. I stare from my position, barely moving - unaccepting, unconvinced. It was real. He did not smile. Waste of energy. He drags himself from the boat, falls on the sand. It is real. Stand up, take it in, feel it. His eyes adjust, no more blue and blue. Yellow and blue. Only yellow and blue.

He sighs and walks on, into the desert.


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