When the pirates boarded ship, the gun of the little one, some inexperienced kid with glitchy nerves, went off, caught me in the leg. My crew dressed the wound, then pumped me with all the painkillers we had. I haven’t seem them since, but I like to think they’re safe, at least adrift on a lifeboat somewhere.
Like to think I’ll be safe too, as the pirates argue in a foreign tongue. Hard to read emotion through the beard, but I believe the little one lobbies for my release to someone who’ll provide proper medical care. Argument ends, and my shooter wraps the sheet from the bed around me. Tight. I’m feeling hopeful, until they slip a 24” pipe wrench into the sheet. They’re weighing me down, which can only mean…
Underwater, warmish, getting colder. Darker.
I never knew enough to take a good last breath. Weak as I am, I couldn’t have. I struggle, kick at the dark as best I can, hoping it might bleed light.
There’s a bump. I think fish, but then it cradles me. Honest to God arms. Must be angels, I think as things become warmer, lighter. Female hands part the sheet and I see her. Radiant. Hair floats majestically, ribboning like the aurora borealis. She’s naked. Angels aren’t naked? Her mouth opens, but I don’t understand. Underwater, dolphin talk. Her lips push to mine and fill my lungs. Again, she makes distorted words. Indecipherable, but I know perfectly well I’ll be okay.