Death Ship: Part 3

We have been divided into groups.

The first division came with the realisation that not all men were here to refit the ship; to scrape away old paint, to gut and and rebuild the cabins. The first cut is made straight from pole to pole. Asian men are grouped to one side, Europeans to another. A man we understand later to be the captain emerges from a cabin below deck. He stretches, reaching up as if to pluck the sun from its branch of cloud and walks toward the men stood facing us. He speaks. They nod their understanding and are taken away. We are told we are to work twelve hour days without breaks and for seven days a week until further notice. The ship will be at sea for four days before docking. Docking where? someone asks but the question is met with silence.

The last of the land sinks into the water, leaving us to a world of blue; shades running at one another, locking horns at the horizon.

Toward the end of day the Sun's death invites us to imagine pinks and deep reds spilt upon the ocean's surface.

A yellow claw is raked accross the waves as she dives down to rest upon the ocean's floor.

When she is gone, the silver scarred moon bleaches the ocean white and skims stones of light toward our ship.

I watch the moon through a gauze of cloud-smoke; smoke rising from the silhouettes of men leaning upon the ship's rails, clouds rising from the sea.