Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly.

The metal barrel swayed gently on the surface of the ocean. Inside the barrel was a girl, with blonde hair and blue eyes. She was called Sam Puckett and had correctly guessed that she was in some sort of afterlife. She had no idea why the afterlife would appear as a vast ocean, but she could see no other explanation as to why she had not been found, run into land or died yet. The last one was the thing that really gave it away. She had been drifting across this ocean for five hundred and forty nine thousand and eighty one days without a bite to eat nor drop to drink and her only inconvenience was a slightly dry mouth.

She only knew how long it had been because of the pocket watch that was on a chain around her neck that was impossible to remove. It had several fold out faces, each one counting seconds, minutes, hours and days. She had stopped paying attention to all except the day face, since the one and a half thousand years she'd been adrift had changed her perspective of time somewhat. Not to mention the days were the only thing that mattered any more. All she knew about the ocean was that it was better to be out of it and every seven hundred and forty one days a storm came, trying to bring her into the blue embrace. Each time there was something to replace the item she was ripped from to act as a new improvised craft for the next seven hundred and forty one days. She had to work for it though.

Swimming in the sea was hard enough, swimming in a storm was worse. Nevertheless every time the storm came, she pressed on to find her new boat. Sometimes she wondered if she should just let herself be dragged under. All that she ever had to look forward to was seven hundred and forty one days in a barrel, box or upturned umbrella. Of course, sometimes she could remember the time it hand been a dumpster that appeared. That period had been the happiest she'd ever been on this ocean. She had room to move, lay down, jump around and not worry about tipping into the sea if she moved and disturbed the balance.

If she tried even harder she could remember when she had clothes and possessions. She still had possessions in her watch and whatever was acting as her raft, but once upon a time she had a wallet, key chain and pearpod to keep her somewhat amused, although the pearpod's battery didn't last that long. All those had been lost when she abandoned her clothes. They got waterlogged easily and impeded her swimming during the storm and she figured she didn't really need them as there was no one to see her and she never felt cold. Well, only on occasion, but that wasn't physical coldness.

Every few thousand days she would see it in the distance, and she would remember what fear felt like. Not the fear of upsetting the barrel's equilibrium or not making it through the storm, those fears drove her on to keep going. This fear was primal, a signal of inevitable death. A small grey triangle peeking out from under the surface of the water, that she knew was definitely a shark. She figured that she was here for eternity, and a place not to spend eternity was inside a shark.

And so she sat, in her a barrel on the seven hundred and forty first day, awaiting night fall and the inevitable storm. It didn't come. Peering over the edge of the barrel when darkness fell she saw it.

A whirlpool, miles wide and inescapable. Tonnes of swirling water, crashing downwards and creating a deafening roar. The centre so deep it appeared only as a spot of darkness fathoms below. An unpleasant death that she was heading towards. She could tell that she had already been caught in the outer currents and would eventually find herself in the centre, her only solace being that the shark and not been near for eight hundred days and she was somewhat sure her journey had come to an end, for better or for worse, she braced herself as her barrel reached the edge of the whirlpool and said her first word for over a thousand years.

"Wow."

--

The next morning a single piece of driftwood floated across the surface of the ocean...

And a naked blonde girl clung to it like a child to their favourite teddy.

She was astounded that she'd made it. The powerful whirlpool had flung her from the barrel into it's deadly grasp and as she flew she saw it. A large piece of driftwood caught in the flow. It was probably going to be as bad as that upturned umbrella but she didn't have much choice. First chance she got she grabbed that wood and refused to let go.

After a few days with the drift wood she realised why a whirlpool had replaced the usual storm. It had been the seven hundredth and forty first scheduled storm. Maybe this afterlife had something for squared numbers. She had to work all that out in her head, but having spent over a millennia alone with nothing but a pocket watch she had spent a lot of time thinking and her mind was as a sharp as a razor.

She held onto that driftwood for another one hundred and four days until she saw it. The silhouetted fin in the distance. Except it was still there the next day. And the next. Each day it was a tiny bit bigger, gaining on her. With both arms wrapped around the wood, she did the only thing she could. She kicked, all day and all night trying to propel herself from it but after twenty days it was still gaining. She finally gave up and waited for the shark to rip her from the driftwood.

--

It was one day away from her when something from the old Sam awakened in her, the pre-ocean Sam Puckett. She was the sort of girl that you stayed away from if she was holding a large piece of wood. The shark wouldn't know what hit it, she thought. She was right because sharks don't have brains capable of understanding exactly what wood is but she also found out it's near impossible to kill a shark with a piece of driftwood.

--A/N--

I know I've been gone a while, but to be honest my heart's not really been in it. Don't know why but it happens. I'm struggling to write anything at the moment so don't get your hopes up for any updates too soon. And I've also decided to stop talking about my plans in these author notes because they end up bearing no similarity to what actually happens. So yeah, the title for this is actually something I came up with ages ago. I kept thinking it would be a cool title but couldn't actually think of a plot to go behind it. I couldn't decide what to title this, so I thought fuck it, I'll just use Retrokill.

I was inspired by this webcomic, http://xkcd . com/22/

And, well, naked Sam in a barrel, why not?