The Odyssey of a Shipwreck

The Odyssey of a Shipwreck by Sophia Nicole C. Dayao Gunshots, screaming, then frantic footsteps trample the deck above our heads. The cabin’s door flies open to reveal the god responsible for the death of the rest of the world.

He’s found us, and we must be the last ones alive.

A three-word whisper as the metal barrel comes eye to eye with my companion. A deafening bang and he topples over, taking me with him. And then, the Earth falls into darkness. The Helios is sailing on the Pacific Ocean—or so the planet’s people called it. It’s not so much an ocean now, just a seemingly endless body of dead water with occasional carcasses and shipwrecks to block the way. Though still heavy with sleep, I trudge my feet across the soggy wooden planks of the Helios. Its sail is tattered, half of the deck is missing its walls, and a gaping hole is in place of the ship’s helm. In other words, my home is now a shipwreck. I watch as a silhouette forms north, growing darker and more prominent in front of the pinks and blues of the early sunrise as it slowly hooks my ship on a rope and quietly tugs me toward its shore. I make my way up to the crow’s nest and wait. And wait, and wait.

The sun is shining high and bright above me by the time the ship gets stuck on the sand of what I now realize is an isle. I disembark, careful to avoid the sharp wooden edges on my way down, and land safely on my feet. Oh. I’m standing on the corpse of a stingray. Or a baby whale, or a dolphin—how am I supposed to know when all that’s left of it is a skeleton and some rotten flesh. It isn’t anything new—it would actually be more uncommon to run into something alive now.

It’s quite different than what used to be of the Earth—the sand a bit dull, the palm leaves either freshly withered or long decaying, and if you squint, you’ll see a bloodstained patch of water at least two shipwrecks away. A particularly heavy gush of wind from the east snaps me out of my trance. I face the direction it’s coming from, let it blow through the greasy, uncombed strands of my sunkissed hair, and I close my eyes. Then, the illusion of sea-mist and sun rays haunt me as apparitions take over every nook and cranny of my head—the common dock the Helios keeps coming back to; the people of the tavern our crew has grown familiar with; and him . His ocean eyes that reflect the blue of the waters, his brown hair that was made crisp by sitting for hours under the sun, and his pirate hands, calloused and scarred, from years of holding on to the Helios’ helm. But now he’s all an apparition of the heatwaves, dock and tavern reduced to planks and screws, and I’m left all alone. All alone on what used to be the Earth. So, what happens now?