There was no wind. The wind that wasn't there settled around the tiny boat in a pall that was endless. It was a heavy not wind. Simon looked up at the sky. It was blue. It was an endless blue that matched the not wind that flowed over the boat. He had been in the boat for an eternity. Whatever power the Key possessed, it had placed him in the boat and shoved the boat out to sea. Simon struggled to sit up, but the gnawing pain in his stomach pushed him back down to the bottom of the boat. Dingy. Craft. It wasn't really a boat. It was a watertight bucket with half a top.

Turning of the Key By Joshua Trujillo

Part 3 - On Needing A Bigger Boat

It was a craft that bobbed nauseatingly in the slightest surf. Simon felt nauseated, but knew that he was done heaving. He had been done several days ago. It had been luck that the boat had a barrel of fresh water sitting at the bow. Simon would've used his energy to row or at least steer, but the rudder had been broken off by whatever pushed him out to sea. Simon guessed that the little craft was a fishing vessel, possibly even for Miranda's family.

Miranda. A frightened doe and yet, strong in her own way. Her lips had been soft and sweet. A supple sweetness in the way she stroked his neck as she kissed him, her lips moist-uh...moist...

Moisture. Simon closed his eyes as his boat shifted in an unfelt tide and swung into the sunlight. His head he'd stuck at the bow, under the canopy. Didn't help much when the boat swung around like it did. He gathered his strength and rolled to his stomach. His breath went from him and Simon huffed. His arms ached as he pushed himself on all fours. Ragged breaths came and Simon could feel the sweat gather all over him. He puffed a couple times and stopped, trying to keep the world from spinning worse than it was.

His cloak lay nearby. Along with his overtunic, the one that was heavy and gray. In fact, all he had on was the light undertunic of cottony material and that was already far soaked through. Simon sat back on his knees and huffed once again. The not wind shifted and an actual breeze drifted across the little boat. Simon closed his eyes and took in the sweet air. Well, it wasn't really sweet, but it was much better than the not wind.

-Mmmmnnggg,- Vrill stirred.

Simon didn't say anything and honestly doubted that, at that moment, he COULD say anything. He looked over at the little shelf that was underneath the boat's cover. It was just wide enough to store small things a fisherman would need, but not really wide enough to be that much of a help. Simon had taken Vrill out of his scabbard and had found a nice nail to hang him up on. Part of the Vrill's hilt had a loop that fit nicely over the nail. He'd complained at first about the rustiness of the nail, but soon quieted down in the face of the not wind.

Simon threw his arms over his head in a paroxysm of energy and got his undertunic off in one motion. He sat there, naked except for the Key, his undertunic around his wrists and panted in the blistering sun. He looked behind him and picked up a small strip of fabric he'd ripped from his tunic earlier. With great effort, Simon inched his way forward to the barrel of water. The dryness in his mouth grasped at his tongue and forced its way into his mind. Simon stopped and began to dry heave. He stopped himself and tried to calm himself. The wind picked up again and blew under the cover of the craft, encouraging Simon to keep going. Simon got to the barrel and grasped on. He put his head over the side of the barrel and immediately regretted it. The stench from the water ripped at his head, making him want to heave again. Simon forced his gorge back down and threw both his tunic and the strip of fabric into the barrel. He waited as he caught his breath. Simon reached in and drew them out again. Once out of the brine, they didn't smell so bad. Simon threw one end of the strip of fabric into his mouth and chewed for a minute, letting the water seep slowly into his system. He felt somewhat better. He'd done this a few times a day for God knows how long now...

Simon sighed and began the slow process of pulling his tunic back on. Being wet, it was like trying to stretch cling wrap over an angry, peanut butter covered seal. Finally, he had it on and he slumped back down into the bottom of the craft. He moved around a little bit, but soon settled into one position. He sighed and continued to chew. One end of the fabric got dry, so he pulled it out and stuck in the other end.

Is this how I'm gonna die? he thought, On a boat, naked, sunbaked, starving and thirsty?

-No,- Vrill piped weakly, -The storm'll probably wreck us first...-

Simon blinked.

Storm? he thought at Vrill, What storm?

-If you can,- Vrill voiced in Simon's head, -Take a look toward the south.-

Simon sighed mentally, not having the strength to do so physically. He propped himself back up to his elbows and strained to look over the side of the boat. The craft ebbed slowly and Simon waited for the big storm to show, but nothing came. Simon resumed chewing and looked back at Vrill. Simon mentally smirked at him and looked back.

Then south came into view.

The strip of fabric dropped from Simon's mouth as he uttered the first two words he'd said in a half dozen days.

"Oh shit."

Simon sputtered and coughed in the wake of the huge wave. It crested against the darkness of the day and Simon prayed he could ride the damned thing out. The storm had come upon them very suddenly and it had left him little time to gather his things together, especially in his weakened state. He pulled everything together and tried to keep it together as quickly as he could, but the rain began as he grabbed Vrill. The sea swelled under him and tossed his little boat around like a yo-yo snipped from its string.

The storm darkened the skies around him. Lightening danced across the sky and was the only illumination allowing Simon to see his way back to the barrel. He crawled, the ache in his arms burning against the sudden splashes of water against his face. Saltwater mixed with fresh as Simon grabbed hold of the barrel. He smiled to himself. Enough water sluiced into the barrel to refill it. At least there'd be fresh drinking water...

And then the bottom dropped out from the world.

-That was interesting,- Vrill sighed, -But it didn't seem to get us anywhere...-

Simon looked up at the barrel. Vrill was stuck in one side. It was the only place that Simon could hang on and Vrill didn't seem to mind. The cover on the boat was gone. Luckily, the barrel and his clothes were not. His clothes were soaked though, but that was okay too as he got a bit more water out of them into the barrel. The barrel was about two-thirds full now and the water didn't taste like little animals anymore, which was good. There still wasn't any land in sight, which was bad. Some fish had been thrown onboard during the storm. Simon ate them. He felt a little sick, but it was the only thing he'd had to eat in a number of days and he was getting a bit desperate. And no, they didn't taste like chicken either.

-And so we drift.-

"Yup," Simon croaked.

At least the storm seemed to blow away the not wind.

-Look at it this way,- Vrill piped in, -You'll look great once this is over.-

"Shut up, Vrill."

Another storm blew up two days later. And another, two days after that. Sure, Simon was getting all the fresh water he'd want, and sometimes a fish or two; he just didn't think this was any way for him to live. It also didn't help that the poor craft in which he was floating didn't exactly make it through the third storm. Vrill poked him in the leg and Simon moved. He may be riding in a barrel with his sentient knife stuck in the side, but that didn't mean he wanted to lose blood over it.

The barrel bobbed slightly. Vrill wouldn't shut up. Mostly because he was underwater and therefore cool. He complained about the biolumins that kept him up at night. He complained that he'd get rusty. He complained that there were barnacles growing on his hilt. One time, he even complained about little fish that were nibbling on the leather wrapping of his hilt. Simon wanted to remove Vrill from the barrel, if nothing else to shut him up, but he couldn't. He'd sink. It was bad enough he was sitting in turbid freshwater, on top of his only possessions, in a barrel floating in the middle of an ocean on a world where he couldn't even get rescued...But sinking would be bad. Simon leaned back as best he could and let the delirium sink in. With Vrill babbling in his mind, what would a few more voices hurt?

Joshua "Gargoyle" Trujillo "Stone Cold Protector of the Righteous" "Owner of The Anime Bar & Grille - Type without Pants!"

Come visit The Anime Bar & Grille! Now with two locations! http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Towers/1509 and http://www.fortunecity.com/victorian/museum/1275