When I woke up, I tried to scream.
All at once, the memories of the last day washed over me, pouring salt into every wound. When no sound came out, I realised that my throat was parched. It was blocked up with a sticky layer of saliva and sea salt and other gunk. I tried to clear my throat, but a dry, hacking cough that set my throat on fire was the only thing I achieved.
I became aware of the rhythmic swaying of my bed. It felt like it was bobbing up and down—as if being carried by the motion of the waves. A splashing sound spattered the windows with pearls of moisture, and the room rocked. Wait a second. Rooms don't swing from side to side.
I lurched upwards, a smooth white blanket sliding onto the floor. The room spun and rainbow spots appeared in my vision. I shifted and the cream-coloured walls blurred. My back felt like it was peeling off—it felt raw and tender. I had to reach back to make sure the skin was still there, because it felt as if there was only a pane of smarting muscle, exposed to the stuffy air.
Paper rustled somewhere. As I shook out the blanket, a sheet of it fluttered to the ground.
The note was brief and blunt. To sum up, I felt absolutely nothing short of inspired after reading it. Apparently, the captain had tried his best battlefield healing on my back, but it hadn't been much use without cooperation from my lifeless body. If the feeling that people with shoes with soles of thumbtacks were running laps up and down my back was any indication, it probably hadn't done much except keep me alive for a couple more hours. But suffice to say…a doctor would only ask questions. I was in new clothes as well—my old ones were probably stinking in a heap somewhere. I refused to feel the flush of embarrassment.
Not that it would matter anyways, because my boat had been rescued from the surf and set to the route for Szcheguay.
My chest felt hollow and cold, as if someone had blown out everything that used to be inside through a hole I hadn't known was there. It definitely felt like someone had drilled a hole in my back. The slightest movement was painful. Everything hurt. It even hurt to think. My brain was tired. I sank back down onto the bed. The whitewashed walls of the cabins were unfamiliar to me. By the time I healed enough to walk, I would be thoroughly done with them, know every nook and cranny. The wall was nondescript, plain. Little flecks of dirt stained it, but the only thing remotely interesting about it was a jagged crevice in the wood, half as long as my body and the colour of freshly tilled earth, as if a certain earth god had cleaved it in a fit of rage. I half expected it to start glowing and produce an alien from a second dimension.
It was the last thing I saw before I fell asleep.