SHORT STORY: DRIFTWOOD

Small waves lapped at the floating piece of driftwood and the rhythmic motion almost rocked the sleeping man off of it. As it was, he awoke just in time to catch himself and resettled his body back into place. The sun glared down on his face, skin raw and peeling from exposure and his lips looked like nothing more than thin sheets of tissue paper clinging to his face. His eyes, milky white, stared up to the sun without blinking.

The last few days had not gone according to plan, he decided, and he turned over onto his side. The driftwood was wide and accommodated a lot more movement than he had originally thought possible when he came across it. But even then, with all the swimming he had to do to get to the piece of driftwood he didn't feel like moving much once he'd climbed aboard.

He stared, unseeing, as the waves lapped at the wood, the blue-green water splashing his face and stinging in his wounds. He could still remember what it was suppose to look like and in his minds eye he pictured the ocean spreading out before him.

So beautiful, he thought, I should let myself down into it, the cool water would feel good.

He began to move but stopped short. He couldn't do it. He knew if he went into the water he'd lose the driftwood. He'd drown.

Would that be so bad?

He sat up and dipped his feet in the water, relishing the cool relief. The burns on his body were only in part from the sun. The rest were from the fire.

The fire.

Things were going so well until the fire. By all rights it shouldn't have started. Everything was designed so that there would be no fire. Of course, the Titanic had been designed to not sink and everyone knew how well that worked out for everyone.

I deserve to drown, he thought and inched closer to the edge. No one was supposed to get hurt, no one was supposed to die Now he was the only one alive and it was all his fault. It was, after all, his design, his plan.

Even if he was found and rescued they would probably execute him. Well, they would if they found out the truth and there was no way of knowing what kind of evidence there would be after the fire.

The fire.

That was all he could see now, that glorious, blossoming plum of flame rising up into the night. The flash had blinded him but not before etching itself forever into his memory. The blast that followed threw him from the deck of the doomed ship and into the water. After that he just swam and swam and swam until his hands hit the piece of driftwood that he now floated on.

Everything was going so well, he mused with regret. Another couple of hours and they would have been within sight of land. Who knew where he was now. He was no navigator, no man of the sea, and knew nothing about currents. Logically, he knew that if he stayed on the log long enough it would either strike land or become waterlogged and sink. Though either option probably required more time than he could survive without food or fresh water.

The fire could have been put out if he hadn't drugged the crew. One of them would have seen it when it was still small and put it out. Or at least the alarm would have been raised and they could have gotten onto the life boats. But then again, if he hadn't drugged the crew he wouldn't have unknowingly started the fire.

He'd argued all these points the night before while he swam and later floated on the driftwood. There was no way he could have known that the stove was broken and wouldn't turn off and he'd needed to turn the stove on to get the water boiling for the tea that he later used to drug the crew. The passengers would never have thought to check the crew quarters for the source of the smoke, and even if they did there wouldn't have been anything that they could have done. By the time the smoke reached the passengers the fire had already reached the engine room.

He edged himself a little closer to the water. So many beautiful people, so many wonderful lives, all snuffed out because of one little mistake. None of them were supposed to have been hurt. They weren't even going to know that anything had happened until they'd reached the shore. The crew wouldn't remember what had happened and just assume they'd nodded off for a few minutes, and in fact, they would have woken up in a few minutes time had it not been for the fire.

The fire.

The drugged tea kept them all asleep while the room filled with smoke. If a window had been open or a door left ajar, perhaps they would have awoken on time. Perhaps they would have seen the fire in time. He had wondered why he hadn't seen the crew filtering back out among the passengers but assumed they were just getting chewed out by the captain for all falling asleep on the job.

Even then he knew he should have checked in on them but didn't want to risk being caught. There was nowhere to hide that many strongboxes except for under his long coat where he'd fitted special pockets to help him with the heist but even with his precautions, he didn't want to risk associating himself with the theft any more than he had to.

He moved to slide the rest of the way off the driftwood.

“Ahoy!” A voice shouted out to him.

He turned to look but of course could see nothing. “I'm blind!” He shouted back.

He could hear the engines now, the splash of the water as the approaching boat cut its way toward him.

He was saved.