ADRIFT

The waves slowly rocked the boat, lulling Michael slowly back to sleep. He didn’t know how long he’d been floating now, from his position the sky looked the same, and one moment merged quickly into another.

His lips felt dry and he tenderly licked his lips, trying to moisten them with what little liquid his tongue could spare. It almost hurt to swallow now, and as the sun beat down on him, his thoughts turned to easier times, to drinking with friends and to food, and he hated himself for doing it. All he could see now was burgers and hotdogs, as his thoughts turned to the BBQ’s of last year, of eating in the garden with friends, of laughter, or joy and he punched the side of the boat.

This old thing had become his home, his refuge, its deep sides allowed him to lie flat and avoid the worst of the winds, but with no hiding place from the sun, lethargy had taken over quickly, draining the energy from his arms. The oars lay across the boat above him and he reached up to touch them. They felt warm, but oddly comforting despite the heat above.

Trying to occupy his mind, he picked at the flaking paint on the side of the boat, finding some simple pleasure in it, as he whittled away at the white sides as his nails pulled at the edges. The boat rocked and he rolled slightly in his position, if his attention had been higher, he might have wondered what had caused it, but after what felt like a lifetime adrift, he failed to care.

It was a moment later when he hit land, feeling the solid thud of stone against the outside of the boat, using what little strength he had left, he pulled himself up on the oars and looked over the side. A small island lay before him, lush green grass and the thought of possible food woke his mind, to feel solid ground below his feet was his primary thought and he started to clamber over the sides.


“Boat Number 24, Please remain inside the boat at all times.” A voice called loudly from the other shore. “And to be honest son, you might have more fun if you actually tried to row.”