I woke up in a rowboat with a makeshift sail stitched of gray uniform fabric. The sky had a hazy strawberries and cream complexion that reminded me it was almost morning. I tried to remember what sailors said about rose colored skies, but the saying eluded me.
I wasn’t sure how long I had been at sea, but my stomach had.
I never much liked the ocean.
Goldfish scared me, let alone two ton swimming creatures with huge, gaping mouths and blank, staring eyes that wanted to swallow you up and grind your bones to a feathery dust.
Fetal position has never been so comforting.
I awoke some hours later to an indigenous bird perched on my leg, cooing happily.
Is that a…pigeon?
I hear a slight splash in the water, followed by a loud quacking noise. I’ve never known whales to quack…
I peer out over the edge of the boat, a little old man is feeding ducks with a sack of crumbs staring at me from the edge of the pond in the park.
How long had I been out?