Drawn Away

I don’t know exactly what was shaken loose. Everything had been going well. The water is rising slowly, which means I will have time to make a fair account as I wait.

There had not been a nicer day in some time, and we were bright to see it. The engines had been strong and smooth—almost doing my job for me—allowing for plenty of time to listen outside. Listen to what? To nothing! Some folks wait their entire lives to do what they do. I didn’t wait for anything. I pushed, I moved, and when I dreamed, I let sleep take a knee. I would go outside and listen to nothing, and then I would dream some more.

We had stalled out a fair distance off from the route, out of contact with the others; it wasn’t the first time, but it wasn’t the same as those times either. We were not in danger, and I hadn’t given up just yet. It wasn’t the same as those times. How? I had been drawn away more often as of late—even more than in my small years—and not because I wanted to be. I couldn’t help but stand outside just one more time and listen to the quiet. This had become a daily occurrence. That is, until I decided I’d not be drawn away as often. After all, I didn’t even want to be. The water has reached my knees.

I had been better for it, once I stopped being drawn away. During that time, I had been around and awake long enough to realize how odd it all was, but then again, waking with the bathing of the sky is easier when you have fallen asleep hungry, isn’t it? It is, in case you were wondering.

But how about this: I had decided to have a look outside a few days ago. Just as you’d expect, I was drawn away to listen to the quiet once again. Sometimes hunger draws you away to sleep, and sometimes you only think you’re hungry, but you are dying of thirst. I read that somewhere, I think. The water is up to the south pole of the scar on my leg now, the one with no feeling anymore.

Back to something being shaken loose. It wasn’t until the evening that it became clear, and even then, we couldn’t figure it out. It had been a fantastic day, the sort that makes you forget about being drawn away. But how about this: that was the problem. I know but hear me out. The water has risen to my pockets.

I can tell myself that a fix is impossible, since I don’t rightly know what has been shaken loose, but that wouldn’t be completely truthful. It’s absolutely truthful that I have no idea how to make the fix. Hell, neither do the others—wherever they are. You might say that I’m a fool for standing here as the water reaches my chest. You might even be right.

But we all knew the risks when we took this on (sort of).