text: I awoke to the crashing thunder of waves tossing me about like a rag doll. Grateful to feel the dawn brush my skin again. My dreams give me no sanctuary from this hell. How I long for the feelings stability, flat ground. A moment of balance in this terrifying rollercoaster that just wont let go. Even as the waves subside they will never end. Home is a distant memory now. Has it been days? Weeks? Months? Who knows at this point. The days have blended together like a crude finger painting. I have survived this long is that a sign of endurance or a foolish man refusing to let go? It’s funny that my place of sanctuary has become my eternal hell. I swear each night I find it harder too sleep, the endless abyss that awaits at the hem of my only safe place taunts me. Gently reminding me how small I really am. A meer pebble in a vast ocean with no clue what lingers below. But at least with the light I can try and catch some food. As much as I yearned for the sun I forgot the true heat it brings. The waves have calmed and the sky is a crystal blue. A perfect blue for a baby boys nursery. As gentle as it seems it comes with a cost. I finally understand what a ant under a magnifying glass feels like. Pinned with no where too go, nowhere too hide, only option is to suffer. Hopefully my rain trap got a good amount for how rough it was last night. Food is a different story there’s a can of peaches left and protein bar that’s been soaked in salt water for who knows how long. I’m saving that for as long as I can. I will live a bit longer but honestly what is the point? How do I realistically get out of this one. Katie must think I’m dead by now and I don’t blame her. I miss her, waking up and feeling her hair brush my face, smelling her perfume as she waltz down the stairs like my very own super model. Memories have become the only thing that’s true too me now. As the days pass I feel myself getting lost in the memories. Yesterday I swore I smelt grass, fresh cut grass not the relentless fragrance of the ocean salting my nose into oblivion. That moment lingered with me for the rest of the day. Part of me hates setting the line in the morning. The sharp hook beckons to puncture. I must be slow and steady. The tension fills my soul like a surgeon starting a life saving heart surgery. Just the thought sends me into a spin of worry but when it’s is done it becomes a line of hope. Hope is something I’ve learned to cherish as it comes. From small to large those moments mean everything. I managed to bottle the water from the traps, still surprises me how much they collect. But with this heat I need every drop. It’s been four days since I caught anything and my insides feel like they are sucking my ribs like a vacuum. Keeping track of what I consume gives me something to ground me to reality out here. But with knowledge comes with a toll. I know that this is not sustainable, I reached that conclusion a while ago now. I can’t cook what I catch so there is always a risk but at this point I feel a hunger that is all consuming. The pain burrows at me like a grub through bark. Slowly grinding but always there. It’s getting cooler which means my chances at a meal are closing fast. The line has become my only focus, nothing else matters in the moment. I’m a sprinter at the Olympics waiting for the gun. If there was ever a time it would be now, this fish are more active as dusk approaches. Locked in place my heart skipped a beat. As a faint ripple echoed from the line. I have learned that this moment requires patience, pull too soon then everything could slip from your grasp. I have to stop myself from letting excitement from fogging my judgement. As sudden as the change of the winds the line jerked with a tremendous force. This is moment I have yearned, no prayed for. With no hesitation I pull at the line like a man possessed. I can feel my heart beating out my chest as I fight with whatever is on the other end of the line. My arms feel like I’ve slept on them both for weeks from fatigue but I must push on. I need this. As I gaze into the bottomless pit beneath me a faint silhouette rises. Adrenaline fills my veins and feeling of weakness is gone for a moment. I pull and I pull. Every inch closer the silhouette draws I feel stronger. The battle is almost won, the shadow becomes clearer but the danger of jeopardising my raft comes with it. A few more feet and this fish is mine, it’s strength has faded like it is offering itself too me willingly. Pure joy rages through me like a junkie taking his first hit. The fish is in my hands. Lifting him from the water it’s as beautiful as a Van Gogh painting. Pearlescent shades of blue and yellow remind me of Gogh’s starry night painting, Katie’s favourite. The fish must weight at least 13 pounds, enough to give me a chance. Ecstasy has taken control, leaping to my feet with the fish above my head I scream. But all good out here comes with a cost. With the strength of a 12 gauge it whipped its body and begins to struggle. In the moment of celebration my judgement has lapsed, I didn’t kill the fish. I fight too keep control but the weakness has returned and as fast as hope filled me the high crashes. It launches back towards the sea as I hopelessly grasp the air behind it. A heaviness bellows in the pit of my stomach, it was there. I had it but it slipped through my hands as if I was clutching sand. Gone.... As the night draws all sense of hope drains from me like a thousand leeches are sucking at my life essence. The orange whispers of dusk dance on the horizon. The final act of beauty before the endless shroud of darkness engulfs my tiny tiny world.