The Boat

This little boat once held ten people. Ten people who ate and drank what precious little we had of our supply. Which is why there is only two of us now. I enjoy the company of this little man better than I did the others. We had an immediate connection when conspiring on who to off next. Yes, you can say that because of our barbaric connection, we became the leaders of this survival pack, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before we were to be pitted against each other.

That time was now. There are six water bottles and eight cans of soup, which we eat cold. I ask the man if he is hiding any food. He tells me he cannot lie to a blind person. A man with morals. I like that. I only wish I have the morals he does. Maybe then I wouldn't be thinking of different ways to kill him. He is a quiet fellow, not like that shrill commercial actress. We had just killed the old man, he was useless anyway, and "Mary-Ann" began going on about how we should be kind to the elderly and respect their wisdom. I turned around and shoved her off the side of the boat and into the ocean where she can respect the wisdom of The Old Man of The Sea. I know nobody regretted my decision.

I am not weak and helpless-despite my lack of sight. I was perhaps the strongest of everyone that sat on this boat. I have been blind my whole life and God gave my other senses more keen observation to make up for making me blind. I observe more than one with 20/20 eyesight.

The man waits to talk until spoken to. Through incessant inquiry, I have heard that he is part of a band I have once heard of. I tell him of the rumors I had heard of their imminent break up. He remains silent. What people don't know is that when they say nothing, they say everything. It was then that I realized that his band had already broken up and this man's life was over. Which is why he was on our cruise – no one goes on "Pleasure Cruises," unless they are in need of pleasure.

The dining room waitress was the next to go. This was a personal indulgence of mine. She was obnoxious and treated me like a simpleton only because I couldn't see out of my corneas. The business man shot himself with a gun he had taken from a guard on his way off the sinking ship. I guess he couldn't handle the pressure of not knowing when he was going to die; which was soon as a matter of fact. I still have his gun, having kept it after I told everyone I would hold onto it for safe keeping. None of them believed that the blind one could be the craziest of them all.

Except for the student, who was non-prejudice enough to know I could (and would) kill another with the gun since I have already killed the others. So I killed him. And it sent a message to the others that I was in control. I can't see, but I am in control.

That night was the night the man I am left with now finally talked to me with words instead of emotions. He was busy rowing our small life boat while I was busy listening for potential threats, despite the fact that everyone was already asleep.

"You don't scare me," I heard him say.

"I don't intend to"

"I think you need me"

"I think I do too,"

And there was an unspoken agreement to protect each other. The silent contract was confirmed when a woman thrust a knife at my back, but her hand was caught by the man an inch before my skin, her wrist broken, and her head smashed against the side of the life boat.

The teenager slashed her wrist with a soup can lid while the man slept. I have a feeling this wasn't her first time slicing her tender skin. The blood-filled boat was quite a nuisance.

The last man quickly turned delirious and had a grand idea that he could swim his way to Russia. He must have drowned, died of fatigue, or gave a shark a delicious meal.

And then there were two.

I don't mind dying, but I do love to indulge myself in the occasional mind game. This young blind woman is allowing me my last indulgence before she kills me. The game: decipher her priorities. Does she believe she will not find land and would rather survive by herself on the little supplies we have left? Or does she believe we will find refuge and knows she needs me to steer this boat for her?

She is a strong woman with arms the size of a baby's head. I wonder where she got them. I wonder why. Prison perhaps? She looks and acts prison worn. Perhaps she wasn't even born blind. Maybe she had a bad encounter with a can of gasoline while she was setting fire to something.

She rows, I direct. Where I am directing I don't know. But I do know that we sure as hell aren't going to float in the middle of the goddamn ocean. She takes directions well; "You're going too far left, turn a little to the right, now straight." She doesn't complain about my demands, something my band mates have never done - which is why we broke up. They didn't want me there anymore, but they could never last long without me, I'm their guitarist.

I began to feel like a wash-out the minute I stepped onto that shitty "pleasure" cruise. I drank liquor like it was water and sang my way through the empty nights, knowing I will never be anything again. Fuck the band, fuck the fans and groupies, fuck the managers and record deals. Fuck it all. I was putting too many pills into my hand when I felt the ship violently shake. The desk in my room tipped, then slammed to the floor, nearly missing my foot. With a pile of pills halfway to my mouth, I waited for the quaking to stop and when it didn't, I realized I did not want to die. I made my way to the deck and jumped into the first life boat I could find.

And yet, I'm going to die anyways. But I'm not scared. This was the third time in a week that Death has reared its ugly head and asked if I wished to join him. It was only a matter of time before I did.

I do not know how long we've been on this boat anymore. I just know that I am getting tired. I can no longer think, all I can do is push the oar and hope we find somewhere. I no longer feel as confident about life as I had before, and killing my companion is not my top priority, even though I know I should. I know I should kill him every time we share a can of soup. But I know I would regret killing him each time he steers me into another direction. I guess he is following the stars.

I am glad I cannot see. My companion has complained to me many times already today about how he is sick of seeing the sea. I am sick of hearing it, lapping against our boat, tormenting us with its nonstop reminder that we are not on land.

We are floating and I am getting hungry, very hungry. It feels we haven't eaten in so long.

"When was the last time we ate?" I ask.

"Yesterday,"

"Let's have another can,"

"We shouldn't, we only have 3 left,"

I think for a moment… I need that can of soup, I need to eat. I am getting weak with all this paddling. I reach behind me where I know the gun is and know that now is the time. I would rather eat now and die later. But the gun isn't there.

I hear a click and know what has happened.

"You took the gun," I state.

"Yes, while you were sleeping,"

"Do you ever sleep or do you just stay up waiting to betray people?"

"I did this for your own good, you need me,"

"I have never needed anyone,"

It was quiet, and I felt the air was still indifferent with the gun being raised; he still had it pointed at me. And now he was in control, so I kept rowing, angry at myself for being cheated.

It seemed like it had been hours of rowing and having a gun to my head when we heard the blades of a helicopter.

We sat in the back of the helicopter in chairs with nets as the backs, each facing the other. We had blankets wrapped around our shoulders and reality sitting on our heads. All those dead people, all those people she killed, all those people I allowed to die. All those souls moving into their new home in our consciences.

I'm in this helicopter as it takes me back to the real world. I almost wish I was back on the little boat with the blind woman who might kill me, where I might kill her. In some sick way, it was almost more secure than what faced me ahead. You only had one outcome; you were going to die, either by the hand of the other or the hand of starvation. There was at least an answer, you didn't have to play 20 questions on that life boat.

I'm on this helicopter as it takes me back to the reality, away from the fantasy of floating towards your death in the vast ocean. It's taking me back to the reality of more than enough pills in my hand and a life going nowhere.

"I never would've killed you," she said.

"Me either,"

I just wish she did.