His tongue flicked out and dragged across parched and cracked lips. He held a grease-stained hand above his eyes in an effort to decrease the never-ending glare of the crystal blue water. In the distance, a bank of black and grey clouds marked the tail of last night’s storm. Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.
The yacht was a mess with tangled lines littering a battered deck. The mast had disappeared before midnight, the distress beacon flashing from the top as it sank beneath the black waters. If rescue came it wouldn’t be because they managed to track that cry for help which now sat at the bottom of the ocean god knows how many miles to the south.
Mary-Anne had disappeared overboard about an hour later, quietly slipping into the ocean’s embrace. In truth she looked peaceful and glad to go. Talk of separation had always been unpleasant to her, a reality she couldn’t face. News of a replacement and pending divorce papers had been too much.
The fight had been short, but every bit as violent as the storm. His own much vaunted mast of patience having broken long before the yacht’s central pillar relinquished to nature’s torment. The boat hook was too convenient an object not to use, and Mary-Anne should have learned by now when not to push. The look of surprise and fear, mixed with a touch of betrayal, on his ex-wife’s face lingered in his mind’s eye.
The storm had washed away his torment and ruined his boat, but it had scrubbed the deck clean of Mary-Anne’s blood as well. It had been easy, a moment of rage, a flexing of his superior strength, and the barbed steel penetrated her body more easily than he ever had. It had been difficult to pull it back out, but the thought was quickly forgotten when he drove it back in. The rush had been better than sex.
Rescue would see him start a new life with Trisha. If not, then maybe being claimed by the tainted waters would be a form of nature’s justice. He shrugged and returned to trying to fix the engine. He’d kill for something to drink.
A smile crept across his face as a warm feeling grew in his gut. Well, he’d kill again for something to quench his thirst. He gripped the brine encrusted wrench tightly as a bubbling laugh crept through him.
Somehow he’d survive, he had to. Trisha wouldn’t understand anymore than Mary-Anne had, but his new thirst had to be sated.
__________
While living in a sun drenched country is nice, he finds his mind continually delves into places that are not so warm and comforting. Strangely he seems to enjoy this. Writing credits include:52 Stitches 2009, Fear and Trembling, and Yellow Mama. New work will be published in: The Blackness Within anthology from Apex and Night to Dawn magazine. He is the editor for Blade Red Press Dark Pages Volume 1 anthology. And for something different, he is currently working on a YA novel. For more information you can read his blog at Musings of an Aussie Writer.
Posts
