Manny and the Raft
Manny wiggled his toes in the water, now an inch deep. He’d long since given up hope of being discovered, but he didn’t want to drown. He kept his hands on the soft and yielding point in the rubber, the cold water was quietly gushing in and his buoyancy was giving way. He felt somehow like a raisin on the surface of a Jello that had not quite set.
Why had this raft no patch kit? A moot point now, thought Manny. It did have some rations and a deck of cards.
Manny opened the survival pouch. He fastidiously unwrapped and began to eat the last chocolate bar, and then calmly surveyed the horizon. The north Atlantic stretched and loomed in every direction. At least the sharks seemed to be gone.
When the chocolate was gone Manny balled up the wrapper and considered hopefully whether it might have some use for plugging the leak. He halfheartedly stuffed it at the tiny hole. It floated and unwrinkled, then began to set sail on the tiny sea inside the raft.