A Fiction: Part XX

Chapter 3

Abyss

I

I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death. It is death who fears me. I do not fear death.

The scrabbling on the harsh ragged ice has torn my fingertips apart. At first, I am cold – cold like I have never felt before. But gradually, the cold becomes a simmering warmth that grows first in my chest and extends out to my fingers and toes. I cannot close my eyes, the blinding light above my only link to the world above ice and above water. I can see a hint of blue through the pane as day lazes above. One final push on the ice and I drift down into the abyss. The light fades as I fall away into the pitch below. Hope fades and I open my mouth to breathe in and end it. I exhale all the air in my lungs, the bubbles rushing past my eyes and coming to rest on the ice ceiling above. Then I inhale. I expect spasms of pain as my lungs fight to reject the liquid being pulled into them, but there are no spasms. There is no liquid. I am breathing air.

I open my eyes to find myself suspended in space in a nicely lit metal-walled chamber. I close my eyes again, and reopen them expecting to find the chamber gone – a figment of my last moments imagining. But the chamber remains. I breathe deep, luxuriating in the act, as my head clears and my heart slows. As I relax, I begin to ponder my surroundings at length. I stretch my one functioning arm out but I am too far to reach the wall. I attempt to shift my weight to see if there is gravity here or if I am held in the center of a weightless room. Suddenly my head begins to spin and my stomach turns. As I throw up the contents of my belly, I note that it does indeed fall past my feet and onto the floor below, splashing up onto my water logged shoes. Gravity indeed.

The force holding me in place seems equally placed throughout my body – not focused on my torso for example – my head feels as weightless as my feet. I can move my limbs, but cannot generate enough force to move myself about. I am fixed in place. It is quite comfortable and after a few minutes I begin to get drowsy, and slip into sleep.

In my dream I float through the pane of ice into the open air. As I float up beyond the ice cliff wall, I see Angel’s Head. There are men climbing off the deck onto the ice with rope and teams lowering supplies. The rear of the ship is lower than the front, and on second look is actually below water at the furthest point. Angel’s Head is sinking and the crew is abandoning her. There is black smoke billowing from the stairwell on deck – a fire below I assume. Suddenly the scene seems to speed up and the sun moves across the sky until it grows darker. I watch as Angel’s Head sinks lower and lower until finally she breaks away from the ice and slips into the depths. The men on shore all turn to look into the sky. They are waving at something… then I realize –they are waving at me! Wait, they’re not waving, but shaking their fists. I am not to blame! It was Hawthorne and the captain, not me! Slowly, the ice they stand upon begins to fail beneath their feet and to my horror, I watch as 30 men are lost to the sea, cursing me with their final breaths…

“Welcome home, Mr. Cole” the voice says as I open my eyes.