Tears were beyond me now. All that was once human inside me was cried out long ago. I lay in the shade of my hut, a crude cave constructed out of deck chairs... I didn't deserve a bed. My coarse tongue rans slowly over my dried lips as the deck rolled back and forth beneath me. The sea was relatively calm, there being no land in sight. The fuel had run out weeks ago. That's when it began. The hunger, the violence... the desperate murder.
And now there was only me. White bones lay cracking under the burning sun, scraps of clothing still wrapped around them. The worst thing was I wasn't sorry and I craved... oh how I craved it now. My left arm was already gone. I had eaten that the week after the first mate had died. Below the knee had followed in the following weeks and now I yearned, no needed more. It was worth all the pain, all the blood... all I had lost. It was too late for me now though. The wounds were infected and I didn't have long. I simply lay there, in my cave, waiting to drag myself down to the gates of hell. I almost relished the idea. I had felt every pain and was now numb to it. Oh how I wanted to feel, even guilt would be welcome. Instead I lay in my hole... waiting to die.