Stephen Fahey: Day 8

We slept, at last. And Fear didn’t molest us. However, he did grow. Now he’s the size of a large dog and as he leaps about in the dingy we rock and tumble. There’s nowhere for Fear to go but here. And Hope is weakening again. I keep reassuring her that tomorrow a search should begin but she hasn’t the energy or will left to speak. She just looks at me and sighs and I know she’s holding on with everything she has but I’m starting to think she won’t make it. Not that I’ll tell her so.


I know I should keep our spirits up and ignore Fear and his vulgar soul, but we have so little food left that we eat only one mouthful per day. We are starving. And our water won’t last another two days. We’ll have to go without either soon and even then we’ll only have three or four days before we… I know that expecting to survive this is foolish, but we have nothing else to cling to other than this dingy and the wishful chance that we might be saved. I don’t know how far the currents have carried us but it is already getting warmer. That’s a good sign.


This worries me though, because if it’s warmer we are very far from where they would be searching for us. If they do search we would be long gone. Hope is limp now. Her breathing is shallow and Fear is foaming in the corners of his mouth. His teeth are so big. They could break bone and rip clumps of flesh from a grown man, let alone swallow Hope whole. But I won’t let him. Not after everything we’ve been through. We need to stick together. We need to stay focused. We cannot give up.


Podziel się z innymi
Leave and flexible w
Uff, jak gorąco

Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.

Translate »