White Spaces

The colours of the boat melted into the surrounding sea. All I could see were white spaces amongst the swirling shapes that lost meaning with each passing second.

                The mariners still shouted, but any words they spoke became indistinct; became just sounds echoing through the never-ending waters. The booming voice I recognised from Jacobs was the best I could make any sense of, but the further away I got, the more muffled he became. Those dull reverberating tones blasted over and over �" sounding similar to ‘man overboard’ �" stood out from the panicked and hurried chatters.

                I’d been falling (or floating �" I’m not too sure) for what seemed an age. I didn’t bank on ending up here. Having said that, I didn’t think of where I might end up. The thought of rapidly losing oxygen was too strong. It was almost on par with the idea of rescue, indicated by the orange ring that fell towards me and stopped soon after, as if stuck against a pane of glass. It stopped, and glided slowly �" almost motionless �" creating a cascade of concentric circles, which rippled outwards along the multi-tonal blue glass, like a signal beaming into space. And occasionally, the light would be magnified by a ripple of white. And those brilliant whites are the best I remember. Even among the azure heights, far above �" or far ahead of me �" there hung a lone cloud. Another white space upon the world’s brilliant canvas.

                Then the lines became blurred, vivid colours dulled to grey, meaningless shapes merged into nothing. The last thing I remember seeing was the canvas becoming dark and obscure, and jagged bars began jailing me inside somewhere darker, far away beneath that rigged boat from which I had fallen.

 

I awoke some minutes ago in the dark. There are no colours here now; worst of all, no white. I only managed to find my logbook through sheer force of habit. Right where I always kept it, safe in the inside pocket of this old thick coat. Of course, a life spent mostly at sea had taught me to take extra special care of it; making sure it remains free from water damage. I don’t know where I’ve put that bag now �" I just dropped it beside me, but it’s so dark here that “beside me” could be absolutely anywhere.

                I keep wishing I’d brought matches, and keep telling myself that they’d be no use after being in the water for so long. I just long to see my surroundings, to see what picture I’ve ended up in. Without light, however, I’ve been feeling my way around and trying to put up with the stench of old coral and rotting ocean-life. I can’t get used to it, though; I keep hoping that this picture will expel me, so I can go back to my own beautiful and colourful canvas.

                But in case I don’t return and you should manage to find this, I just want you to know that I think I’m writing to you from the belly of a whale.