A week goes by. He captures rainwater in his hat, drinks it: it keeps him alive. He’s fashioned a fishing pole out of a safety pin, some twine he had in his pocket and a long piece of wood from the wreckage. Not much biting, without a lure, but he catches a few small fish which he eats raw. He keeps it down by sheer force of will.
Below him, the dark and sinister outlines of sharks pass, gracefully and ever present. There were a hundred officers and crew with him on Oberon. He may starve, but the sharks won’t.
***
Title by: Magpie
Story by: David
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heh heh heh poor mr sailor