Just his luck - Shipwreck Challenge Round 1

Sarah squeezed his hand. She stood beside him, seemingly undisturbed by the water. Patiently advancing towards the exit with the rest of the passengers in the dining hall. Hull cracked by some stone, the rumor said. The Titanic-related jokes had died quickly and the hall grew quiet—so much he could hear the water lapping against the fixed table’s feet. The tapping sound of the chairs—lifted and dropped by the rhythmic current—traveled through the water.

He wished he had never answered the phone that Sunday.

He thought about what had led them there, memories swirling like the cold water around his ankles. Disgusting. Was it inappropriate? Focusing on the soaked socks inside his sneakers instead of the fact that the room was slowly filling with water?

He felt foolish now, having being excited about winning those cruise tickets. It was just his luck. He never won anything. Maybe Sarah counted as a win. On second thought, no. She was more like a lucky strike. The lucky strike, actually—that’s how he knew the tickets were a prank life had pulled on him—there was no way something this good would happen to him twice in a year. There had to be some balance in fortune.

How fast can things change before we realize they’re different? I was like water in a spinning bucket, inertia fooling it into thinking everything remained the same. The bucket stopped spinning at its highest point and everything stood still for a fraction of a second. Then it all rained down. One block. Hard. Heavy. He found himself crushed against the wall—now floor—before he understood what was happening.

The former calmness turned into chaos, people stomping on each other to get out. So idiotic. Didn’t they now that made matters worse? Worse, like the water-pouring-really-fast-through the-windows kinda worse. He spotted Sarah a few feet away, lying sideways on the floor, almost completely covered by water now. Why didn’t she get up?

Her panicked look paralyzed him just when he was about to get to her. He didn’t want to reach her. Bad news would come, he knew that. Maybe he should just head to the exit, like everyone else. Could he just leave her there?

“Jason!” she pleaded. He was at her side in a breath, fighting knee deep water with long and slow strides to get there.

“I’m… I’m stuck. My arm. The window…” She said, eyes wide open in a face thinned by imminent terror.

The water covered up to her neck by now, dirt clouds dancing around within the current. On his knees, he tried to pull her up. It wasn’t working. She was yanking her arm. Hard. Desperation rising as fast as the water, now leaving only her face out, looking up. A bizarre mask that seemed to depict absolute panic.

Maybe he looked like that too. He asked for help. Yelled. One guy even looked him in the eye—waiter clothes a wet mess while he splashed heavily towards the exit. Mass of despair trying to get out.

Sarah’s final breath before the water engulfed her was shaky, but deep. She was fighting the fear. He held to her body and pulled with all his strength. He felt something pop. She was still trapped. Maybe her shoulder had come out of its socket? He didn’t stop pulling. Not even when the water engulfed him too, cold and suffocating. She grew weaker with the seconds.

He shifted in his position and grabbed her other arm—the free one—so he could rise his head out of the water. Air filled his lungs and casted away some of the anguish. His heart pounded hard. Harder than it had ever pounded, trying to get the oxygen into each and every cell in his body. It only lasted a few seconds.

Chaos was subsiding in the room as everyone else managed to get out. Or maybe it was just the water, dulling it. Hiding it. Maybe that weird humming he felt on his body were just hundreds of screams, shushed by the fluid. Everything went dark. He thought about letting go. She wasn’t moving anymore anyway. She was a ragdoll, tying him to his end.

She had to be dead. It was just his luck. Maybe he should just let go. She was kind, she would forgive him. She never held anything against him. Why would it be different now?

He felt something tug at him and he instinctively tightened his grip around her arm. A dark figure revolved around him. A shark? His thoughts were getting blurry. Bulky arms wrapped around his chest and pulled. He understood now. Someone was making the decision for him. Oh, this was so easy. He just had to let go and let himself be brought to surface. To air. To life.

It must’ve been the cold, he thought—mind disorganized. It had numbed his fingers to the point he couldn’t open his hand, turning his grasp ironclad. Something was wrong with him. Why couldn’t he let her go?. He felt his rescuer give up, and he did too. His soul sank. He felt his racing heart fade slowly into a rhythm that matched the current. Something soft tickled his neck and he forced himself to open his eyes one last time, catching a glimpse of her once beautiful face, now distorted by horror. Eyes rolled back on their sockets. Dark hair dancing around like seaweed, as if on its own will.

As he closed his eyes, bubbles surged around him. Their tickling numbed by his imminent unconsciousness. Right before he let himself fade away, he opened his eyes, discerning two dark figures surge through the bubbles.

---

Aaaand I'm back!

So, this was supposed to be posted last friday, but real life is funny that way. Rollercoaster funny. Not-always-funny-but-more-like-comical kinda rollercoaster funny, but enough with that. Last week was borderline terrible at some points, but now's not the time to wallow. Plus I was finally able to connect to the interet so...

I just want to send my apologies to @steemfluencer and everyone else in the Shipwreck writing challenge for posting this way after the deadline—I obviously do not expect it to count— but this was a great... well, challenge for me to write (duh!) and it felt like a waste not to post it.