Prompt: "I'm dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean."

My death took 48 days.
But then again, maybe it didn't – maybe I had been leading up to it since my birth – maybe death had been my true life ambition.

April 2nd 1909 (Age: 7)
I jump up and down, waiting for my daddy to come back. He is home late, and I wonder why – perhaps he has bought me a gift? I hold my drawing of a boat in my hand, ready to show to him. Daddy thinks I will be a great artist one day. I have promised him that I will travel the world and draw the beautiful places I see, so that he can share them with me. I will explore the world in search of new lands and the mystical beings I read about in daddy's picture books. I shall be an adventurer.

April 13th 1913 (Age: 11)
Skipping down the street, a flower in my hair and a sketchbook in my hand. Mrs. Slimmer is pruning her front garden again, and she calls me over. She hands me a rose and tells me that I can have it. I run home, feeling ever so happy. Daddy is waiting for me with two ice-creams and a short book. My daddy is a sailor, and the best reader in the whole wide world – when I grow up, I want to be just like him.

April 15th 1918 (Age: 16)
I have just met the most wonderful boy! He is handsome, polite and so kind! Although he fears the sea, I do believe we are in love. His name is Jonathon, he has just moved in next door – I certainly hope he stays! My paintings are coming along wonderfully too; a handsome man bought some for his house the other day, he said these were the most beautiful he had ever seen. What a compliment – and from a complete stranger, too!

April 30th 1923 (Age: 21)
Well, my education is complete – I am ready to travel the seas. Father has agreed to fund my trip – such a kind man he is. Jonathon and I have been together for many a year now, and I do believe he will ask me to marry him soon – I simply hope the wedding does not coincide with my trip; we shall simply have to rearrange it if it does. After all, this is my life goal – I would die for it.

May 5th 1924 (Age: 22)
I am ever so excited! If I were seven again, I would be skipping down the street. There is less than a month until I am to be wed with Jonathon, and more importantly, less than 12 months until my journey. I have changed a lot in the course of these past few years, but I know that this trip will affect me so much more.

April 2nd 1925 (Age: 23)
"Come on Jonathon! Don't be afraid, this trip will be fantastic!" I yell over my shoulder at my husband, who is lagging behind, looking worried. He is being such a silly man; these are the most state-of-the-art boats in the world - what could possibly go wrong? We look around as we board the ship, Johnnie apprehensively, myself excitedly. Everything is perfect, beautiful. It shall be a life-changing adventure.

April 13th 1925 (Age: 23)
Screams, shouting. People yelling, fighting. Chaos is running amok everywhere; the storm roaring around my ears, drenching me and mixing with the seawater and my salty tears. The ship is going down, people are drowning. Dying. We board the small boats, women and children first. I am alone, my husband is no where to be seen. I am afraid. Suddenly, I see something fall towards me out of the corner of my eye. I turn around, and am met with darkness.

April 15th 1925 (Age: 23)
The light hurts my eyes; my head aches profusely. I look around; the water is silent and still. There is nothing, just flat, empty ocean. Now I am truly alone – in a raft by myself, with nothing but a small box of rations and a bottle of water to keep me alive. Nothing else, not even sails. But then again, I suppose it doesn't really matter - there is no wind. Nothing.

April 30th 1925 (Age: 23)
It has been fifteen days since I woke up on this godforsaken piece of wood. Almost everything is gone and I still don't know where I am, apart from the fact that I'm floating in the middle of nowhere. The water ran out days ago, and I have no choice but to drink the ocean water. I hallucinate when I'm awake, and the nightmares never end when I'm asleep. The salt doesn't help – it just makes me more parched. I feel like I'm dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean. I can't take this much longer.

May 5th 1925 (Age: 23)
The sun is scorching my back. My skin is burnt, my arms weak. I reach for the food; it is stale and sparse. All that is left is old fish and moldy bread. I want to cry, but I can't. I have no tears left. I am far too tired, far too weak. I know that soon, I will die.

May 7th 1925 (Age: 23)
I can't breathe; I feel insane. My thoughts are jumbled, they make no sense. I am now but a skeleton, awaiting death to claim me. I can feel myself fading away, and all I can think of is, 'at last, the pain is going to en-'

May 8th 1925 (Age: 23)


Okay, so this is my first attempt at a story in a long time; and it's in a different style to what I usually do, so I hope you guys don't find it too weird or confusing :)