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S.O.S

By phoenix777 All Rights Reserved ©

Other / Horror

S.O.S

March 3rd, 1985

My family and I boarded the ship today. It’s a medium size luxury cruise ship sailing from New York to The Caribbean. My wife Brandy is seasick and we haven’t even left port. My daughter Ashley is already playing with some little children from two cabins down. At five years old she is already more charismatic than I ever will be. Brandy has taken some medicine for the seasickness and is in bed now. After checking on her I will likely go and check out the rest of the ship.


March 4th, 1985
We saw a pod of dolphins today. Is that what they are called? A pod? Ill check a dictionary later. Brandy finally emerged from the cabin long enough for her to see the dolphins and get some sun, but the nausea soon drove her back in. Our only vacation in years and she can’t even enjoy it. Ashley is still playing with the kids she met. They are scheduled for a game of water volleyball in the deck pool. I’ll probably get some sun and watch them. Ashley can’t swim too well just yet.


March 5th, 1985

We stopped off in Florida today. Just a few hours layover. Ashley wanted to stop off in Disney world, but of course we didn’t have the time. She threw a bit of a fit, screaming that she wanted to see Princess Aurora. It took a while to calm her down, but ice cream helped. Brandy isn’t used to her fits like I am. Mommy gives her everything she wants and I usually have to be the bad guy. It’s no big deal though. Not as bad as my dad was.


March 6th, 1985
We set sail again late last night. Is that the right word? There are no actual sails. I really need to start talking to someone who knows what the terms are. Anyway, Brandy conked out as soon as we got to the cabin. Ashley lay down next to her and did likewise. I’m out on the back deck right now watching a band play through their set list. They are surprisingly good. Though for the amount of money I’m paying, it should be, right? The lead singer is… what was that? Some kind of loud crash from the front. Ill finish this in a bit. Gotta go check.


March 7th, 1985
They’re dead. Ashley and brandy. Oh god. My wife and baby are gone. I… I can’t get my mind around it. I think I only survived because I was on the back deck. Nobody on the front or in the cabins seem to have made it. Nobody knows what happened to the ship or where we are. Some small island chain. No mainland as far as I can see. All I managed to hold on to was a life jacket and this damned journal. Instinct I suppose.


March 8th, 1985
We’ve been here almost a full day now. There are seven of us. I didn’t get everybody’s name but there are a couple band members, a young couple, and two of the deck hands. I’m sure there are other survivors. Just not on this island. One of the deckhands, Greg I think, estimates the island is only a mile or so long. Maybe half that wide. There are no others here. Maybe on some of the outlying islands. They are all too far to swim. No food here either. There are some birds and of course fish in the sea, but nobody knows how to catch them. Much less make fire to cook it. Writing in this journal seems like a stupid thing to do, but it makes it more bearable somehow. The group has been gathering anything from the wreckage that has washed up. Not much of use. Just cushions, life vests, and other little things that easily float. The other deckhand hasn’t spoken much, and the violinist from the band seems sick. His partner hasn’t left his side all day. I’ll see if I can help with anything. No telling how long we’ll be here.


March 10th, 1985
Sorry I missed a day. Haha. I’m apologizing to a damned journal. Anyway, we found some fresh water. There are some pools in the middle of the island where it seems dew and rain has gathered in rock cracks. The other deckhand, who is named Jeff I learned, found it. He’s been walking around the island almost constantly, claiming a rescue ship will be coming around soon and someone would need to be there to flag it down. Nobody else sees the point. The musician that is well, Steven, is trying to form a shelter with the scraps we have found in the surf. He’s not having much luck. It’s not easy to make much with a couple hundred life vests and cushions. The young couple are doing nothing helpful. She cries all day and he comforts her. The sick band member is getting worse. I don’t know how long he has and nobody here has any medical training. We take turns bringing him water, but it’s not helping.


March 11th, 1985
Nothing new today.


March 12th, 1985
The food situation is getting desperate. We found Greg eating what little grass there is in the middle. He threw it up hours later. The young woman stopped crying finally. Her husband, still haven’t gotten his name, left her side shortly after and tried to help Steven make a shelter. No luck still. Nobody is too put out. We have shade here under the few trees. I think its mostly busy work. I have my journal, they have the shelter, and Jeff has the walking and looking for a rescue ship.


March 13th, 1985
They stopped building the shelter. With that many life jackets, that figured they could make a raft. Its looking promising. We are all hungry here. I think the violinist has gone into a coma though. Steven says he had severe diabetes and without sugar he may be suffering from hypoglycemia. I don’t know how much longer he will live. There sure as hell isn’t any sugar here. The last thing Ashley ate was ice cream. Isn’t that just a riot.


March 15th, 1985
The raft is done. I missed writing yesterday to help them finish. The two deckhands and the young couple are going on it. I don’t trust its floating ability on the open sea, and Steven decided to stay with his sick partner. The rest of them promised they would find a rescue ship and send it back for us.


March 16th, 1985
The sick man finally passed today.


March 17th, 1985
It all makes sense when Steven explains it. Were hungry, right? And he’s dead. Steven actually got a fire going too. I cant explain how good it smells. Like pork ribs. God, am I really considering this?


March 18th, 1985

It wasn’t that bad. Actually tasted like pork. If my Jewish grandmother could hear that! I never did get his name. Steven hasn’t spoken since. I think he finally understands what he has done. I guess a full stomach will make your thinking more clear.


March 19th, 1985
We left the meat out all night. The gulls and other birds tore it up and ate more than I would think possible. And with no refrigeration it will be going bad soon. Steven still isn’t talking, but he sure ate his fill again! Maybe is should try to talk to him about it. No sign of rescue today. They probably didn’t make it.


March 21st, 1985
Well, the meat is gone now. It went bad in the worst way. I guess the heat sped up decomposition. Steven didn’t even react when I pushed the body out into the surf. The smell was turning my empty stomach , and when the hunger gets bad enough again I don’t want to be tempted to eat it. Steven is staring off into the sea again.


March 22nd, 1985
What is he planning? I know he’s planning something. Every time I look away I know he’s staring at me. I know he’s planning something. I know. Even when he sleeps I know he’s watching me. Well, I’m watching him too. And he doesn’t know! He doesn’t know I have a sharp shard of metal from the ship. He wasn’t watching me when I found it. But I was watching him. I know he’s planning something.


March 23rd, 1985
Ashley thinks I should do something today. Steven still doesn’t know that I know. I play nice, talking to him from time to time. But Ashley tells me not to fall for his silent act. We know he’s just biding his time.


March 24th, 1985
He was sleeping today. Moaning in his sleep. So I did it. The ship shard went into his neck smoothly. I made Ashley look away when I did it. I don’t want to scar her. She’s just a child. I asked her to gather some of the loose wood around the island while I did it. After I was done and I had to gather the wood myself. Kids, right?


March 25th, 1985
After I cooked up Steven I ate. The fire charred some pieces. I’m no cook, after all. Ashley wouldn’t eat though. I put some in front of her in case she changes her mind. A growing girl needs to eat.


March 27th, 1985
The meat went bad again. I tried burying it to get it away from the heat, but it didn’t help. Ashley is crying now. She’s hungry again. So am I. I have to feed my daughter. She hasn’t eaten in days. I’m afraid she will starve if she doesn’t eat soon. There’s more meat here! I don’t have to tell her where it came from.



epilogue
The rescue ship finally came on the afternoon of March 28th, 1985. The group that left the island on the vest raft had been picked up after only two days. They had been nearly dead from exhaustion and dehydration. It took a few days before they were lucid enough to lead the ship back to the island. By the time they arrived, only one man was alive. There were bones around the campfire, later found to be human. The survivor didn’t even react when they arrived. He merely crawled around talking to someone who wasn’t there. Most of it was unintelligible, but what could be understood seemed to be him asking a little girl to eat. In one hand was his own left foot, cooked up and ready to be eaten.

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