Osmosis

THURSDAY

In the vast expanse of the open sea, I drift—a solitary man with a bottle of whiskey in the lifeboat. My skin, bronzed by sun and matted by salt, now clings to my bones like parchment. My lips crack, and my mind teeters on the precipice of madness, fueled by merciless sun. A bottle of whiskey and I.

Each time I awaken from a fevered dream, new occupants enter the boat. They emerge, conjured by the shimmering heat. Familiar faces—etched with lines of struggle and eternally sun-kissed—appear. They claim to have been there all along, their voices echoing in the hollows of my mind.

The young boy, eyes the color of seafoam, whispers secrets of shipwrecks and buried treasure.

"Away! Away!" he shouts me, pointing towards the adventures in the distance.

The naval sergeant, haunted by battles long past, recounts comrades and promises made.

"Just around the corner" he mutters, gaze cloudy, confused. "Somewhere just outside my grasp"

The old fisherman, creaking ancient mariner tales. He speaks of storms weathered and lost nets.

"Some fish" He whispers "Some chances"

FRIDAY

At first, I dismissed them: —a mirage born of desperation. But they persisted, sharing memories, laughter, and arguments. They weave intricate tales of survival and loss, their voices blending with the creaking of timeworn wood, every word adding a new groove onto the surface of the lifeboat.

SATURDAY

Days fuse into weeks, the bottle is half full, and the impossible gnaws at me: How could so many souls fit within this tiny vessel? Their laughter echoes like distant waves crashing against the hull, a haunting melody that blurs the line between reality and illusion.

Desperation drives me to remember their faces—their eyes reflecting forgotten dreams, guilt, longing. Their stories intertwined, revealing fragments of my own past, lost in the haze on the horizon.

When the stars trembled in the cradle of the milky way, dancing into the tapestry of intertwined lives revelation struck. Ghosts of my choices and paths taken, haunting me as I drift toward infinity. I am the water of life. I welcome thee.

I stand at the boat’s edge, staring into the abyss. The waves beckon, promising release. The seaweed billows, summoning me, promising a gentle welcome. I glimpse the truth in the waves: I was alone; I was never alone.

Beneath the waves is where I become one with my memories—their childhood laughter, their midlife pain, their aged promises.

The bottle is empty now. The papers are placed inside and sealed with a cap.

The boat dissolved, its wooden planks melting into foam, merging with the sea. The ocean reclaimed its lost son, and the world forgot the man who went mad from thirst. Reality was the cruelest mirage of all.