LOST

The 6th of November… I’m still in the ocean, for more accuracy somewhere in it’s middle perhaps, at least as it probably could have been. Presume to start from the beginning is the right choice to put me far away from this abandoned ship floating on the way to the real and even perceptible world that I’m extremely starving about. It was a challenge, that trivial challenge which brings an inexperienced rower who is led by obsession to overcome his irrational fear which sometimes even borders the acute anxiety and feel the glory of the 1st prize. 

  I put my name down into the race through the Atlantic Ocean, steaming around Bermuda Triangle and going further. Apart from being superstitious at first I felt a bit puzzled but later I was assured that all the accidents including running out of energy, lack of food, facing the threat of sharks, the risk of being frozen or turned over or some other obstacles could have been easily coped with the help of professional sailors and saviours who should have monitored the race from the start. 

  So, after a few days of enthusiastic preparations I finally managed to set out. Fresh frosty air filling my lungs, great speed, everything seemed to go hand in hand with my healing from infatuation which had caused that dreadful fear. I believe that description of all the days spent before the crucial date is absolutely unnecessary because all those could be expressed in one simple word «vital». Approximately after 5 days of racing I began to notice some strange things which were very hard to explain. My food disappeared in proportions which I couldn’t consume even if I tried. I couldn’t make any connection with the other regattas and saviours. My radios stopped working. Deprived of sleep I suffered from hallucinations. Time seemed to be frozen. I realised that days were changing, but hadn’t seen the sun set for ages. I couldn’t feel breeze or see a bird…nothing. Using my navigator, which appeared to be the last working staff on my ship. I got to know that some unbelievable and extraordinary power had brought me right in the centre of Bermudas. I was isolated…I’ve been isolated…I’m still isolated, dreaming of a violent storm as a rescue vessel which would have brought me back with wind like little Elie in her house. The 6th of November- day 115, abandoned, unable to leave, waiting for help but making a tough decision to stop that voyage which would have last for ages.

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