As I stood on the bridge promenade of my sinking vessel, I gripped the railing and watched intently as the bow plunged into the ocean, allowing the salty waters of the sea to spill over the sides onto the forecastle deck. Knowing damn well that the ship would soon find its way onto the ocean floor, I foolishly retracted the evacuation order, commanding all passengers and crew to remain in the quarters, assuring them of the safety of the surely doomed vessel. Tricking myself into the belief that I could single-handedly save the ship from death, I scramble down the stairwell onto the submerging forecastle deck. Taking a dive into the water, I futily begin to thrust the port-side water pump, hoping to expel more water outside the ship than what was constantly being forced into her hull. Frustrated and sickened by the ineffectiveness of my efforts and the ingestion of sea water, I dive back into the water and re-emerge just soon enough to climb aboard the forward boat deck. With the forward compartments of the ship entirely flooded, the bow section of the boat is nearly completely under water, and will soon allow the ocean to rise up as far as the main forward decks.
It was at this time that a sailor under my command steps over to tell me that there is still time for me to die an honorable death with my hands at the wheel; the only death fit for a captain at sea. Angered and appalled at the suggestion that I may actually allow the ship to founder despite my skill as a captain, I grab the sailors tie and fasten it tightly around his neck until the whites of his eyes become red with bursted blood vessels. Forcing him to his knees, I place my right foot onto his shoulder, and with one swift motion, I break his arm clean from of his body. Above the screams and cries of the injured sailor I command the seaman to consume the ship's wheel as if it were a pretzel. Nonresponsive to my orders, I detach to wooden wheel from its stand and crush it into bite-size pieces with a nearby fire extinguisher. "EAT IT, SHIPMATE!" I scream, as the frantic sailor stumbles to his knees. Crying from the pain of his wound and shame of his order, the poor bastard grabs a fistful of wooden steering wheel and takes a reluctant bite. Unsatisfied, I command he eat more, but while simultaneously reciting the lyrics to John Lennon's "I am the Walrus."
"Yes... sir..." Responds the broken seaman.
I gleefully dance amongst the bridge while my crewman continues to shovel chunks of wood into his face and sings the 1960's rock and roll oldie. The sailor had consumed nearly 3 and a half pounds of oak wood steering wheel and had sung up to the lyric, "Stupid bloody Tuesday" before growing faint, burying his head into his arms, and muttering a faint but recognizable, "Captain..."
I respond, "What the hell is it shipmate, why have you stopped? I order you to resume!"
"I think I'm gunna barf, sir..." Mutters the sailor.
"Sick... that's just gross, seaman. I'm not gunna stick around for this crap."
I leave the bridge in disgust, walking briskly as though my patience has been tested beyond any tolerable level. As I walk aft along the tilted deck, I notice the passengers, now in a panic, have begun running amok on the boat deck, screaming and pleading for my help. On sight of this, I remove my pea coat, draw my pistol, and like the Olympic runner, Mike Johnson, I hurdle over the masses of people who are throwing themselves at my mercy, stopping only to shoot those who stand too high to jump over. Running towards the ship's stern, I look back to see that the water following me, slowly making it's way up the deck, taking the lives of the people I have just hurdled over. It increases its pace as the ship continues to sink; I fire a few shots behind me as I run, but to my knowledge, the attempt was ineffective, and the water continued to rise. Passengers and crew alike start to jump overboard, as debris from the deck of the ship begins to slide down the boat deck, gaining speed and altitude. One of these furniture projectiles strikes my first officer in the face, killing him before he could utter so much as a "bullocks!" Making my way through the crowds of the innocent who will shortly die, I fight to gain ground on the stern, which has now raised itself at a 70 degree angle to the water. Inching my way towards the aft decks, I feel the sole of my shoe slip slightly, as the finish of the boat deck no longer offers enough friction to allow me to continue barreling toward the poop deck. After a few moments of violently shuffling my feet in stasis, I feel my lower portion slip out from under me, soon after followed by the sensation of falling at 40 miles per hour towards the flooding bow of the ship. Thousands of slivers of wood impale my body as I slide against the deck toward my demise, and though my adrenaline is running high, I cannot help but acknowledge each wooden particle as it penetrates my skin and implants itself permanently within me. As my speed accelerates, I look to my right to see that the passengers were no longer panicked or frightened, nor do they seem at all affected by the ship's orientation in relation to the sea. I notice several esteemed passengers and members of my own crew perfectly balanced on the deck of the ship as if standing on level ground, watching as I continue my fast-paced, ass-first slide towards the ocean. Only seconds away from impacting the water, I look ahead to see the mast of the ship falling towards me, almost as if it were trying to block my entry into the water. The wooden mast strikes hard on the deck only feet in front of me, ruining any chance of a relatively painless arrival into the sea. With either leg spread apart from my body, my body slams powerfully into the very top of the pole, delivering enough force to propel it out from the water from it's resting position on the ship's deck into a perpendicular position relative to the water.
Summoning enough strength to stand atop of the mast, I peer down at my vessel as it founders into the thin, freezing waters of the Atlantic. I can see another ship in the distance, apparently steaming towards the position of all of those who were placed into the water during the sinking. I wave my hands wildly, trying to generate any attention that I could in hopes of being seen, alas, there was no recognition from the incoming ship. I reach into my pocket and withdraw from it my flashlight, signaling an S-O-S with its light, yet the ship still fails to send a response. The water bound passengers and crew of my late ocean liner paddle their way over to several dinghies that have been launched by the ship, seemingly forgetting their illustrious captain who stands helpless on the detached ship's mast that now slowly sinks as the vessel just so recently has. The dinghies rescue all from the water, leaving not one soul behind, not one except mine. I become frantic and scream as the rescue ship changes heading and steams away into the starry night sky. Stripped of my dignity, and knowing my fate, I draw my pistol from my saturated trousers and fire my last shots at the departing ship, hoping to deprive some poor bastard of what I cannot have -a rescue. Nearing the water atop of my mast, I throw my wet clothes into the water, hoping to slow my rate of descent, if only just by a few seconds. In my last moments above the water, I improvise a song, "The sea sucks and so do all of you", however, I am cut short by the perilous ocean water that invades my lungs with a vengeance, silencing my voice, and breaking any chance of redemption.
10 months later, a fisherman finds my hat floating in the deserted waters some 10 miles adrift from the location of my sunken vessel. He pulls it from the water and gives it to his 6 year old who will use it to take shits in when his sister is tying up the bathroom.
