The Hourglass
I could be anywhere. I know where I am but this place is senseless. My mind,even though it’s barnacled to the logic of the map, can only picture a speck engulfed in a universe of directionless ocean. All I see through the cabin window is water. Water here, water there. Crashing, water. Colliding, water. How am I breathing? Am I breathing?
“It’s been like this for years.”
Breathing. My panicked breath stabs my lungs, sending cold electricity up my spine. Where did that come from? That voice, right there. Now, only water. Water there. Is it possible that he’s returning? Aimlessly floating, recklessly hoping for--has it really been years?
No, a year and I would have run out of room to count the days. I imagine I’ll lose track of time when I lose track of all the places I’ve marked. This vessel is only so large.
There was a time when I couldn’t stand up straight in this ship. When waves would rock my balance and the floor would vanish. I would wear coats to keep from bruising myself.
“And now...” a deep voice drones from outside the cabin. He’s returned.
I can’t see him. Only the water. Flooding the deck. Washing away his footprints. Did he jump off? It’s too dangerous to go outside and try to find him.
I call out his name, but I don’t think he can hear me. I don’t think he can sense anything but the water, just like me. At least I’m in my cabin. I have my log.
How many notches are there? This rain will never let up. The walls of the cabin have more marks than I remember. What was once a wall of smooth planks reduced to botched wallpaper from all the inch long gashes I’ve carved into it. This ship was new once. Now it’s so old I’m afraid it’ll fall apart if I go outside. Especially with all the rain. The endless, endless rain.
There is no more room on the walls. I’ve carved away at every last inch trying to keep some kind of grip on things. Maybe it has been years.
The ceiling and the floor are adrift in endless tics made with an endlessly dulling knife. Maybe one day I’ll dig my way entirely out of this cabin. Maybe the knife will disintegrate before then.
I have no idea where else I can mark. This room had grown barren long before I lost Hendrick. This chair, this desk, this hourglass, this small captain’s log are all I have left here. All I have left. I can’t destroy that.
The ship sings as the torrents of rain and ocean wash and flood the entire exterior of the boat. I reach out toward the wall in front of my desk to feel it’s rumbling throat.
I see the blackened, scabby lines that litter my arm. Have I been cutting myself?
I can sense every inch of my body now. I cannot open my eyes, for even the light of the darkness hurts too much. Why am I no longer numb?
I rub my hands over one another to find them untouched. Was I hallucinating? How long have I been here? I keep my eyes closed and run my hand up my arm, brushing the old scabs off. I reach down and feel my legs to find they’re just as bad. Is my entire body scarred?
I lean my head back, eyes still closed. I try to feel my face, but I can’t keep my hands from shaking. Raising my eyebrows, I can feel the blackened bloody scum cracking and pulling itself from my forehead as it creases. I’ve been here for years.
I can’t remember when Hendrick left the cabin. Maybe he was swept away by this endless flooding. Thrown off deck in an abrupt wind. Wherever he went, he’s gone. Hundreds of days. Thousands. I’m captain now. Until I can find land. Once this rain ends.
The water blots out the sun. In this violent wash the world becomes bleak, desolate, nonexistent. The sun might have burned out decades ago. I wouldn’t know.
The hourglass gets louder when it’s close to being empty. The last shimmering grains of sand rattle and echo off the sides of the glass. The last one always takes its time and hiccups before joining the fold.
Silence. Sometimes I take a moment to wallow in the emptiness of it, but it terrifies me. All I can hear is the rushing rain in this empty space where time doesn’t exist. It’s too real, it reminds me that I might never find my way out of the sea.
Frantic, I reach forward to flip the glass to set the time. I exhale heavily--huh. I was holding my breath. One more flip of the glass before I make a new notch.
Time is back. I can see Hendrick, his head rolling lifelessly outside my cabin window. What was once his cabin window, he peers deeper as I try to get a better look at him, his eyes. I had to see if it was really him.
Clinging to the side of the boat all of this time, he had to have died by now or at least drowned in the onslaught. It can’t be him.
As I stand to open the window, endowed with trepidation that it might not be who it looks like, Hendrick’s face contorts, anguished, as he evaporates.
I turn around to see the hourglass behind me, drizzling coloured grains of sand, inspiring clouds of dust to pollute the bottom basin. I don’t want to know if he’s still there. I’ll just sit here, watching the hourglass. The smooth glass soothes my scarred flesh as I run my hand up and down the time-keeper. I think he’s gone for good but I can’t turn around. I don’t want to. The glass is hypnotizing. I close my eyes...I can dip my fingers through the glass and into the glossy sand. I can escape this dingy cabin. The sand sifts through my fingers. I almost feel like I can breathe again.
******
The hourglass is empty. How long had I been asleep?
“Years.”
The word creeps its way out below my slow breath and jolts me awake. The hourglass is empty.
Frantically I look for a new place to mark. Nowhere to tick on the walls, the floor, the ceiling. The desk, pocketed with scars, is void of free space.
My pulse sprints and causes all of my scars to throb and crack and seethe. I’ve sliced away at my eyelids, my finger webbings, the back of my ankles, most of my genitals, the back of my neck. There’s only one place left to carve away.
Grabbing the length of my penis, I slice into the last remaining space on it. Right on tip, across the urethra. One swift motion. I thrust my head into the wall behind me to lessen the pain. I look down to see the first slice wasn’t enough to make a mark. Tears running down my face, I clench my muscles taut in anxiety, place the dull knife in the same spot and quickly, firmly slash.
I can hear the muffled shrieks of a tortured soul in the distance as I writhe on the splintered and damp floor. My vision blurs from tears or blood--I do not know. Will this pain never cease? Will I ever find land?
I rub my cheek into the splintery floorboards before looking down at the tip of my cock. A cross, pumping out blood. Gashed wide open. With each maroon gush, I could feel my heart accelerate. I can feel my vessels begin to burst.
“Breathe.”
It tumbled out of my throat between dejected moans and sobs. My breath is stuttery, but plentiful. I can feel senses outside of pain. I can smell the musty wood I lay on. My eyes closed, I clutch the floor. I can see the tall elms that built this ship as I climb upward, forever, towards the sun. There’s a foothold for every direction I want to go, I’ll never fall. I am safe. Safe. The lulling shush of the leaves in the wind echoes and fades into the whirling abyss that slowly swept me away from this elm, this ship.