Jason shifted uncomfortably on the raft, wincing as the rough surface chafed against his sunburnt arms.
"Second day in paradise," he muttered sarcastically, his voice hoarse from the heat.
The salty wind whipped across his face, offering a brief respite from the oppressive heat. Jason closed his eyes, trying to conjure up memories of shade and cool water. But the mirage quickly faded, leaving only the stark reality of his predicament.
He sighed heavily, rubbing his arms as frustration and helplessness washed over him. He had spent the last day working on the desalinators, who knew how much time he would spend before his first meal.
"Get it together, Jason," he chided himself. "You're not dead yet."
With renewed determination, he scanned the horizon, searching for any sign of salvation. His eyes caught a glint of something in the water - debris, floating on the gentle swells. Hope surged through him as he leaned forward, straining to see.
"Come on, come on," he urged under his breath.
Slowly, achingly slowly, the raft drifted closer. Jason's heart raced as he made out the shapes - wooden planks, twisted plastic, jagged shards of what might have been part of a boat. He reached out carefully, ignoring the protest of his aching muscles.
"Easy does it," he murmured, grasping a plank and pulling it aboard. "Don't want to lose you now."
One by one, he collected the pieces, adding them to his meager pile of supplies. Each item represented a chance, a possibility of survival. Jason allowed himself a small smile of triumph.
"Not much, but it's something," he said, surveying his new treasures. "Now, what can I do with you?"
He didn't know yet, but he still had a bit of time to take a decision. As the entire day passed, no other debris came by. Jason drank all the water the desalinators had produced before going back to sleep.
The next morning, Jason's eyes snapped open at the first hint of dawn. He scanned the water, his gaze sharp despite the fatigue weighing on him. A flash of movement caught his attention, and his heart leapt.
"No way," he breathed, leaning forward. "Is that...?"
Tangled around a piece of driftwood, a length of fishing line bobbed in the gentle waves. Jason's hands trembled as he reached for it, his fingers closing around the sodden wood.
"Come to papa," he muttered, pulling it closer.
As he hauled the driftwood aboard, Jason's initial elation faded. The fishing line was a mess of knots, a frustrating web that seemed to mock his desperation.
"You've got to be kidding me," he groaned, holding up the tangled mess. "This is gonna take forever."
Settling back, Jason began the painstaking process of unknotting the line. The sun climbed higher, beating down on his already blistered skin. His stomach growled, a constant reminder of his dire situation.
"One knot at a time," he told himself, trying to ignore the trembling in his hands. "Just focus on one knot at a time."
Hours passed, each small victory over a knot feeling both triumphant and futile. As the day wore on, Jason's movements became sluggish, his fingers clumsy with exhaustion.
"Come on, Jason," he muttered, blinking away the sweat dripping into his eyes. "You can do this. You have to do this."
Finally, as the sun began to dip towards the horizon, Jason held up the untangled line. A ghost of a smile crossed his cracked lips.
"Step one, complete," he said, his voice hoarse. "Now for step two."
Jason reached for a long piece of driftwood he'd collected earlier. His movements were slow but deliberate as he began to strip away the bark.
"Alright, let's see if I remember anything from those camping trips," he mused, carefully shaping the wood. "Dad always said a man should know how to make his own fishing rod. Well, he loved to say a lot of random things after all…"
As he worked, Jason's mind drifted to memories of easier times, of laughter around campfires and the pride in his father's eyes. The nostalgia was a bittersweet comfort.
"What I wouldn't give for one of your lectures now, Dad," he said softly, examining his handiwork. "But I think you'd be proud of this."
With the rod taking shape, Jason turned his attention to creating a hook. He picked up a shard of glass that he had found on the last day, wincing as it nicked his finger.
"Ouch! Okay, that'll work," he hissed, carefully wrapping the base of the shard with a bit of line. "Now for bait..."
Jason's gaze fell on the can of food he'd found in the raft. The smell that wafted out as he opened it made his stomach churn.
"Beggars can't be choosers," he grimaced, scooping out some of the unidentifiable contents. "Let's hope the fish are less picky than I am."
Now, everything was ready.
Jason's hands trembled with a mix of excitement and doubt as he cast the line into the water for the first time. The world fell still and silent, save for the gentle lapping of waves against the raft. He watched the water intently for any sign of a bite, his eyes scanning the depths as the sun beat down mercilessly.
"Come on, come on," he muttered, willing a fish to take the bait. "There's got to be something out here."
The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. Jason's throat was parched, his lips cracked from dehydration. He licked them, tasting salt, and grimaced.
"What I wouldn't give for a cold beer right now," he chuckled humorlessly.
Hours passed, the line remaining motionless. Jason's initial enthusiasm waned, replaced by a gnawing doubt.
"Maybe I should've paid more attention during those fishing trips," he said to himself, his voice hoarse. "Dad always made it look so easy."
Just as he was about to give up, the line jerked suddenly. Jason's heart raced, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
"No way!" he exclaimed, gripping the rod tightly. "Don't you dare get away!"
He pulled with all his strength, his muscles straining under the heat. The makeshift rod bent dangerously, threatening to snap at any moment.
"Come on, come on," Jason grunted, fighting against the unseen force beneath the waves.
Finally, a fish broke the surface, small but glistening in the sunlight. It thrashed wildly, desperately trying to escape.
"Yes!" Jason shouted triumphantly, his voice echoing across the vast, empty ocean. "I did it! I actually did it!"
As he reeled in his catch, a sense of overwhelming triumph washed over him. It was a brief victory against the vast, indifferent ocean, but in that moment, it meant everything.
"Look at that, Dad," he whispered, holding up the fish. "Your boy's not completely hopeless after all."
Jason cradled the fish in his hands, its scales glinting in the fading sunlight. A quiet satisfaction settled over him as he began to clean his catch, his movements careful and deliberate.
"Never thought I'd be so happy to see such a small fish," he muttered, his lips curving into a wry smile.
As he worked, Jason's gaze drifted towards the horizon, where the sun was slowly sinking into the vast expanse of the ocean. The sky blazed with brilliant hues of orange and pink, a stark contrast to the deep blue of the water.
"What a view," he breathed, momentarily pausing his task. "Almost makes me forget I'm stranded in the middle of nowhere. Almost."
With the fish cleaned, Jason's stomach growled loudly, reminding him of his desperate hunger. He glanced down at his catch, then back at the setting sun.
"Well, here goes nothing," he said, steeling himself. "Bon appétit, I guess."
Jason took a tentative bite, wincing as he encountered a small bone. He chewed carefully, savoring the taste of sustenance after days of nothing.
"Ow!" he exclaimed, pausing to remove another bone from his mouth.
Despite the discomfort, Jason continued to eat, driven by his hunger and the knowledge that this small victory was just the beginning of his fight for survival.
The ocean was the only silent witness of a man cursing the existence of fishbones, yet still taking huge bites at a time.