I'm in salt lake city! Fuck you. I mannaged to smuggle my own cheap louisiana whiskey because alcohol here is fucking baby formula. I'm stuck, by myself (except the polygamists of the latter day saints), in the airport for eleven hours. Say it ass! ELEVEN HOURS in a little airport. The elevator music is rotting my brain! My brain! The mush that keep me breathing is turning into elevator music. If I don't pick up soft jazz after this, it will be GOD's doing. The shitters are all dirty too! I gotta drop one...to be frank. Food's good though.
(Well, at least I managed this. I like it, but I never know. It's pretty much on the twisted side, maybe.)
Out in the water, surrounded by horizon, resting on liquid, feeling its fluid movement, uncertain, alone, scared, dying, soiled, but not recoiled from hope. Edward has just eaten the rest of his shipmate; the last survivor from the sunken and abandoned cruiser besides himself. His life boat holds urine and shit, bile and innards, blood, and all salty and sun drying. He looks out to the endless sea, where the sharks, the soulless, beautiful demons swarm.
He thinks of the third man that was with them who went out in a delirium; he had poisoned himself with the salt water when he could no longer hold the strength to resist the tempting blue water. He had not intended on stepping into the ocean when he did; home is where he wanted to walk. Once realizing his folly, the third man hailed for the raft at his reach. The screeches of fear, pain, confusion, and struggle froze Edward, crying. The beauty demons of the ocean took him just below. They fought over his body. Edward and his dying shipmate could feel the demons and the mangled third man under the raft. The raft bounced and protruded in the areas of the violent contact underneath. The nightmare was too surreal. Edward’s shipmate, nursing infected shark bites, became hysterical. His wailing topped the man’s who was being tracked by sharks. They were no longer brothers. He felt no pity for his shipmate’s loss of kin. He only knocked him. He couldn’t handle the noise. All that he wanted was to lay in peace until rescue.
He tosses an occasional scrap of his shipmate into the ocean to watch a couple sharks quickly take them over and under. He knows he will live. He knows that the strong and the willing survive. He keeps his mind set on living. He sends his body into a standstill; slow breathing, no moving, little thinking. What little thoughts he thinks are as sharp and logical as a man can produce in such hell, such testing damnation. Hours pass; he keeps his head out of the sun. His mind wanders off in the heat and into the blue on blue death of a distance.
He thinks of earlier with his last shipmate. He feels no guilt. The thought of what he did only makes reasonable sense to him, mere misfortune how the man had been bit while saving his wife who had fallen into the water while dozing. It was the next day after the cruiser sank and everybody was still in good hopes of rescue. It was Edward, his last shipmate, the last shipmate’s brother, wife and young son, and a stranger. The bites that he sustained left his motherless son in shock. Lacerations on both calves and a deeper larger one in the thigh took nearly too long to staunch the blood. Edward wonders how his shipmate mate lasted so long to come to such an unfortunate demise. He was the last one left on the raft and he knew that his shipmate would perish soon, but not soon enough. He knew he the sun was getting to him and the hunger and the thirst. The first and the last he couldn’t do anything about, but the middle dilemma was solvable. He began eyeing his shipmate wondering if he was even well enough to be consumed; if eating his shipmate would only make him more ill. His leg, yellow and black, that excreted puss into the cesspool of seawater and vile bodily fluids about them. His arms look well enough. He wondered if he should let aware of his plain, or if he should just do. He wondered how he would do it. He only had one object and the two decisions of telling him or not was left to impulse. He blindly stood with a small paddle that came equipped with the life boat, and sung it at his shipmates sun burnt, skin pealed, and salty head. While swinging the bout shifted in the water and his aim failed him. The paddle caught his shipmate, his last friend, in the throat killing his air supply. He toppled face first into the coagulated pile of vomit and excrement in the corner of the boat. He choked for air in an image from Dante’s Inferno. The nightmare consumed Edward and he froze again. Choking, gagging, sloshing about and the slim sound of Edward’s shipmate’s weeping shark bites inched into what would become Edward.
Rehashing this event in full image is the last memory that flows through his mind before losing consciousness. He reawakens aboard a shipping barge heading for the United States. He sleeps the whole way. In his hospital bed on land he wakes to his celebrating friend and family. He rejoices as he comes to a full recovery. A memorial service for the people that died during the ship wreck in put on some time later. He goes as one of the few survivors, but stays in the back. Afterwards a man comes to him looking like he should him but Edward is confused and clueless. He introduces himself as the crew hand of the shipping barge that found and rescued him. He after talking stoically with Edward for a moment he looks at him sternly and tell him of what else was in the raft with him. Edward swallows hard past the lump in his throat. After a silence, the crew hand of the shipping barge walks off. That night, in bed with his loving wife, the smell comes back to him for the first. He knows that it’s far too long far man to have blocked such a thing for such a long time; the smells, the sights, and far worse the sounds. The weeping of men women and children, the inconsolable sobbing, the endless screaming throughout the night comes to him.
Remembering the child watching his mother in the water turn to blood; the current was still strong from the night’s storm and by the time everyone had awoken from her screams she was too far from the boat. Edward’s shipmate jumped in immediately and started swimming. As the distance between him and the raft grew, the distance between him and his wife stayed the same. Edward, the stranger and the brother paddled towards them as they called back for Edward’s shipmate. They all saw the numerous sharks coming. When Edward’s shipmate heard his young son’s scream hit an octave higher he turned back to the boat. By the time he made back in, bleeding everywhere, his son had stopped screaming. His son watched in shock at the spot where his mother swam last. Three nights past while the brother courageously tending to Edwards shipmate and his son. His son never left shock except for sporadic hysterics that pounded their heads during the day and pierced the sky at night. Edward knew that boy’s hysterics was lowering his and everyone else’s moral. The stranger beat him to it. The shipmate and the brother both asleep, Edward and the stranger sitting across from the kid, Edward staring at the water, the stranger, holding his ears, stands, staring at the boy, and lunged towards him with hand outstretched. He heaved the boy’s head underwater and immediately the uncle to the boy grabs the stranger with no avail. The stranger and the boy tumbled into the water. With no sharks in sight, the uncle jumped in to retrieve the boy. Watching patiently, Edward awaited the stranger. The shipmate’s brother came up crying and pounding the boat in rage. He looked at the shipmate in complete sorrow. He rolled into the boat and wept, knowing that when his brother woke up, his awaking would be the worst he will ever experience.
Edward gets out of bed when he unavoidably thinks of what the brother must have felt before his brother awoken without his son. The sorrow, so much sorrow that is capable to any of us and he has snuffed it till now. He goes to his kitchen and drinks a glass of wine. After a few sips, the wine turn into his shipmates blood and he drops the glass. The breaking glass turns into the child’s scream at night. The screams in is head turns into the screams of his shipmate’s as he mourns for his son. The scream in his head turns into the screams of his shipmate in intolerable, unimaginable pain as his deep wounds rot as he continues to live without his family in a bath of shit and piss. The screams in his head turn into the maniacal ranting of the third man as his handle on reality shatter into a panoramic hallucination. He stumbles to his apartment balcony for fresh air. He hugs himself in the cold. He holds each arm in the other, tighter and tighter. The feel of his fingernails in his arm brings him back to tearing away his only shipmates flesh with his fingernails. The warm flesh slowly starting to show; his fingernails breaking against his shipmate’s bone, and over the life boat he tosses himself into the abyss where he should have been the first to go.
Fucking gnar as hell
