The room he stood in was only big enough across to have two bunks placed, but only just barely. The overhead lights gave off a red hue giving the air itself a red quality as the dust floats in front of his face. A simple switch flip fixed this however and the room lit up to reveal a mirror and very small sink and toilet both fitting to the dingy gray of the room. His quarters was one of three this size and were the second most spacious on board, the captains being able to fit a toilet, sink and a desk. It wasn’t that the ship was small, but every inch of space was needed for living quarters, work area or the slew of onboard systems necessary to keep it afloat. After a rough shave the man threw on his dirty uniform from the day before as it was his cleanest pair. He wore the same uniform as the messenger from earlier with two exceptions. He had a green stripe down the seam of his collar and cuffs and wore a orange aiguillette. His name tag read Handon and he was one many Americans in. I am thirsty. A walk along the beach until I find a stream. It is a small blue ribbon snaking out from the woods until its essence is swallowed by the sea. It gives up its very existence to merge with the sea. I envy it a moment. When I take a drink I try to pull some of its soul into myself. I feel stronger. The forest beckons. Many days pass. The gulls have decided to leave me be for now. My blood has dried into a hard shell that even their accusations cannot pierce. My tears have dried, streaking my face with the scars of their passage. I am still alone. I gaze at the ocean one last time before heading into the forest. I rest against the thick trunk of an oak tree. The leaves fall, gently brushing across my body, cleansing me of my long exile. The salty tang of the sea has been replaced with the gentle odor of dirt and plants, life and death. I allow the leaves to bury me as I gaze at an errant ray of light that has pierced the canopy overhead. For the first time since my boat was.
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