This is a story for the begginning of the end competition. Rules: the short story must be exactly 250 words and the first word must be the same as the last. I would be very grateful for reviews. Thanks.
Calling won’t help anymore, here on the dark, writhing ocean. As the puddle beneath my bunk deepens I’m starting to realise that it never would. A fist pounds on my cabin door, its owner wailing for salvation. After a few more savage knocks he gives up. He doesn’t yet know the futileness of his shouts. The ship bound for New York, for my family... is sinking.
I can remember my mother’s voice, clear as a bell, in my head. “Alice we’ll be here when you’re back. Do whatever you can to make it back. We love you Alice.”
At first I tried. When the captain announced that we’d struck an ice-berg I ran to a life-boat only to find the bodies already being lowered down by the sea-men. All around people pushed and shoved like cattle and a smell of nervous sweat clogged the air. Boat after boat left the ship, all with a load of grim-faced women and weeping children. Soon I knew that there was never going to be a place on a boat for me. I gave up my shouting and returned to my room. I barricaded myself in and buried myself in thoughts.
Here now, it’s hard to see the bad side of leaving. Leaving this god-forsaken ship where the air is cold and my cheeks dampen with every passing moment. It’s silent now. All but for one soft voice. A voice so sad yet triumphant. It is the voice of the sea. It’s calling.
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