Part 4 (2/2)

Chapter 3.

Bored on Board

I've spent a considerable portion of my life drifting, essentially. Never before, however, had I found myself in a position where I was doing so literally rather than figuratively. It was somewhat ironic, really,although I've noticed that irony is something better appreciated from a great distance of either miles or years, or both, and best appreciated when it's happening to someone else.

In this instance, it was happening to me. Then again, why not? Everything seemed to happen to me.

Except as I floated under the night sky, calling as loudly as I could to see if any voices responded and hearing none, I had to admit that for all I mourned my unceasing hideous luck, I also possessed the most uncanny streak of good fortune that any fool had ever been ”blessed” with.

Over and over again, I would be thrust, all unwilling, into the mouth of danger Once again for no d.a.m.ned good reason, I'd survived it. The former incident was bad luck, the latter, good. Which led me to decide that I was the luckiest b.a.s.t.a.r.d on the face of the planet, since my luck ran so extremely in both directions.

It was now simply a matter of finding out which aspect of my luck was going to be holding sway for the duration of my decidedly disturbing ocean voyage.

I clutched tightly to the table, skimming over the choppy waves as best I could. Every so often I would be completely submerged, and I would wait to be dragged down to the bottom. A nameless watery grave: how fitting for one whose greatest boast throughout his life was that he had nothing.

But G.o.ds or fate or what-have-you were not interested in letting me off that easily, no. As many times as I was pulled down, I bobbed back to the surface moments later. I was drenched, I was miserable, I was cursing the fates (since at that point I wasn't taking the long view of being grateful to be alive), and overall it was one of the most miserable nights I'd spent in my life. And considering some of the nights I'd spent, that's saying something.

I didn't think I was going to be able to sleep at all, because I was concerned that as soon as I dozed off, I'd lose my grip on the table and slip off into the water. Apparently my survival instinct was more powerful than even I realized, however. One moment I was flat on my back, staring up at the moon, and the next I was blinking against the morning sun. Spray was misting in my face, and the salt water caused my eyes to tear. Slowly I sat up, being careful not to dislodge my rather precarious perch, and looked around.

Nothing.

Just vast, vast stretches of emptiness. Water as far as I could see, stretching to the horizon, stretching away.

It had not been all that long ago that I had been ”adrift” in a similar situation that was simultaneously the exact opposite. I had been in the middle of a fearsome desert with nothing but sand and dirt all around me. Water was a distant and fanciful dream. Now here I was with more water than any sane person could hope to want to see, but just as helpless. Worse off, really. At least I couldn't drown in sand. Also, at least Sharee was with me the last time. If you're going to die alone, it's always nice to have someone along for the ride.

I pulled my feet up to make sure they were clear of the water, and checked that my sword and staff were still with me. I also had a skin of water attached to my belt. After my experience in the Tragic Waste, it had just become force of habit. Out of curiosity, I cupped my hand and dipped it into the ocean, then tried to drink it. It tasted salty, as one might have expected, and not especially palatable. So I took a judicious sip from my water skin, even though my impulse was to suck it dry. Then I waited.

What I was waiting for, I hadn't the faintest idea. I had no reason to expect a s.h.i.+p to come along and rescue me. I had no real means of paddling. I could use my sheathed sword as a makes.h.i.+ft oar, I supposed, but what direction would I head? The s.h.i.+p had been going east....

I looked up at the sun. It was still low to the horizon, so I knew the approximate direction that east was. But so what? Miles upon miles of empty ocean stretched before me, and even if I did manage to gain a little ground with my sword as an oar, so what? Better, I reasoned, to save my strength and dedicate it to a useful pursuit such as not falling off.

I prayed no storms would arise, because if they did, I was a goner. I had no protection from the elements, and any truly fierce waves would likely sweep me off the wood and away to the aforementioned watery grave.

And so I lay there.

And lay there.

And lay there.

I watched the sun track across the sky and wondered if the old stories about it being pulled through the air by a vast being on a great chariot had any basis in fact. I somehow doubted it. If I were a creature with as much power as that, I'd certainly find some pursuit more worthwhile and interesting than doing the exact same thing day in, day out. I reasoned that one of the benefits of omnipotence was the right to be spared mind-numbing boredom and repet.i.tion. Otherwise what was the point of infinite power in the first place?

The sun finished its arc and night fell once more. The silence was deafening. Just the steady lapping of water against the table and my labored breathing, that was it. I fell asleep and dreamt of Sharee, and of Mordant. I dreamt of the Princess Entipy, and the court of King Runcible. They were pleasant dreams, which was surprising considering I didn't usually have pleasant dreams. In the taunting night vision, I was back at Runcible's court, except this time everything had worked out. I was respected, loved, admired. I was dancing with Entipy, and people were bowing and smiling whene'er I pa.s.sed.

And my mother was alive. She was standing to one side, grinning at how much her great and glorious son Apropos had accomplished. ”Your destiny,” she mouthed, and Mordant was on her shoulder.

I woke up. It was night, but I could sense that the sun would soon be rising.

It did.

It crossed the sky. More tedium. More of the same. I supposed I should be grateful as there was still no sign of anything to break the tedium, such as a storm. I remained judicious about the water, even though my lips and throat were begging for more. My stomach was thick with pain from lack of food. It had been a day and a half since I'd had anything to eat, and I had no clue how much longer it would be, if ever. Why, oh why hadn't I thought to keep some sort of nonperishable food items upon me? Wouldn't that have made some degree of sense?

I castigated myself for that, and soon I was chiding myself for everything else in my life that I had donewrong or foolishly. It was a considerable list. What was interesting was that in virtually every instance, I found someone else to blame. This person or that person had done me wrong, had ill-used me, had found some way to exploit me. Poor, poor Apropos, never to blame for any foul deeds or unfortunate happenstance that befell him, for they were always the fault of someone else.

This was certainly not a new mind-set. Nevertheless, for the first time, with no one else around to voice my frustrations to or commiserate with, it seemed rather... I don't know... hollow.

The problem with any boring situation is that sooner or later you tend to become bored with yourself.

With only yourself to talk to, it's easy to realize just how little you have to offer for intelligent conversation.

It wasn't as if I had always been my own greatest enthusiast. My loathing for the world was generally superseded only by my self-loathing. But when you're adrift on a piece of wood, even self-loathing will take you only so far. Sooner or later, you begin to wonder... why?

Why?

If life is so terrible, why notdo something about it? Find options, look for new ways to approach it. If there was one thing I knew, it was that I was a rather ingenious individual for searching out alternatives to dealing with a.s.sorted predicaments. It had gotten me this far, hadn't it? Granted, where it had gotten me was a piece of wood in an ocean in the middle of nowhere, but still, the point was that less inventive people would have been dead long before this.

Most of my approach to life was filled with a desire to be left alone. Beyond a steady appet.i.te for vengeance on those who had made my existence a living h.e.l.l, I really didn't aspire to anything other than to let others get on with the business of adventuring, fighting, and killing each other. Leave me be. Don't drag me into it. Don't look at me.

But was that reasonable?

I had become the physical embodiment, the epitome of that philosophy. I had achieved the perfect state of isolation. There was certainly the downside of having no food and a very limited water supply.

But let us say that I had both in abundance, through whatever means--mystical or natural--you could devise. Let us say that the constant concern over inclement weather and the resultant speedy death were not a consideration. Let us say, in short, that pure survival was not a concern.

It left me looking upon an endless vista and saying,Is this all there is?

I was an island unto myself. I was my own best friend, my own beginning and my own end. I was the ultimate in isolation, and the humanity for which I held such contempt was a distant and irrelevant consideration to my life.

It was the perfect existence for one who disliked so much.

I had to say... it wasn't much fun.

I stared down into the watery depths, hoping perhaps that some stray fish would pa.s.s by and I could snare it. Once I managed that feat, I had no clue what I would do with the d.a.m.ned thing. It wasn't as if I could cook it. I could certainly eat it raw; I'd consumed raw or nearly raw animals before when making a fire wasn't feasible. It didn't sound particularly appetizing. Then again, the way my stomach was feeling,just about anything should have been appetizing.

By the time of the third morning, I was ready to eat plankton.

By the time of the fourth morning, I was ready to eat plank. Specifically, the board of wood I was floating on.

I had never been so hungry in my life. The temptation to gulp down the entirety of the skin's contents was becoming overwhelming. I was going to die. I had no doubts on that score. What purpose, then, to dying thirsty as well as hungry? How would I be served by it?

I drifted in and out of sleep, regardless of time of day. The dream about the party at King Runcible's court was becoming more and more expansive. By this point, everyone was there. Everyone who had ever tried to kill me--and that alone was enough to fill a fairly sizable hall. Everyone who hadn't tried to kill me was there as well, although they took up a considerably smaller portion of the room.

Even within the context of my dream, I was impressed by the staggering number of people who had, at some point or another, desired to see my life terminated. It was quite an accomplishment, in a depressing sort of way, to find the means of annoying so many people.

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