I don't know what it is that I've done to bring God's wrath down upon
me. Not due to any lack of sin but because my list of failures is too great
for even casual memory. What of my flaws warrants the curse of the
Almighty? Only God knows what exactly it was I did to bring down this
terrible run of luck. Heh. Only God knows and therein lies the problem.
Irony, even in the depths of despair, flourishes.
Where does one even begin to address dilemma of such magnitude? Where does one pinpoint exactly the mortal sin amidst a sea of filth and human decay? Certainly I must begin by concentrating on the problem, not on the feel of sweat running down my back nor the sound of the men whispering outside. It is strange, isn't it? It is strange how one at the edge of sanity begins to notice the most trivial of things in face of certain demise. I acutely hear the sound of my own breathing. Is that my breathing? How ragged and weak it has become! One would think I was fevered or dying of some inner infection slowly eating away at my lungs. It's funny, breathing, that is. How it changes with mood and situation. There! See how it has quickened?
I swear that I can almost hear individual drops of sweat as they form on my face, squeezed from my pores in a moment of complete agony and distress. Dear God, how I have strayed from the point and now again the pain returns as I veer from madness back into the land of the sane. My stomach has dropped out as if I'd been shot through the middle. Oh God, oh God, oh God! Can I pray to you, God? Am I allowed to seek your comfort when you have turned your back upon me? See how I clench teeth together and grip my hands? See how I squeeze shut my eyes and hold my breath? I am concentrating on you! Answer me, God! What is it that I must do?
God, Father, will you grant me your forgiveness? You claim to be a God of mercy and yet opening my eyes I find nothing has changed. The ship is silent, still floating like living death in an inescapable calm. The men still murmur accusingly and I still inhabit the body of an absolute and utter failure. You don't answer. I cannot blame you for who would ever answer the plea of a wretched thing such as I? Then that leaves me with only one choice. It's strange how clear things suddenly seem now that I realize you have denied me any other course. I must attack the problem straight on like a man. Never mind the maneuvers, I won't bother with asking forgiveness or working things out with the men. Straight at 'em. Straight to the point. I know what I must do now. God, all I ask is that you give me the strength to make things right.
How mysteriously quickly I have found myself up here on deck. The passage from the berth to the open air is not part of my memory. No matter, there is very little that matters now. Oh dear, I do wish that it had been anyone but this young child on watch. He has always been so kind to me and I sincerely regret having to distress him in any way. See? Here I tell him how kind he has been. I shall sorely miss him if not anything else on this floating prison.
How far down the water seems from where I stand. How deep and frightening their depths. Here is something I believe I can handle. Here is something I believe I cannot fail at for who has ever heard of a round shot floating? And yet as I sink into the cold dark depths of the sea I begin to wonder. I had jumped with the idea in mind that I was sacrificing myself for the good of the crew for when I disappear will you not lift the curse? Was this not the bravest thing a man could do? To throw away one's life in order that the whole might live? Is that not bravery? Was this quite the right thing to do? Is this, in all reality, an act of cowardice? Am I choosing the easiest way out of this? No, no I am not a coward. What coward would ever dare to face the silent black cold enveloping me that reaches endlessly into eternal fear?
Where does one even begin to address dilemma of such magnitude? Where does one pinpoint exactly the mortal sin amidst a sea of filth and human decay? Certainly I must begin by concentrating on the problem, not on the feel of sweat running down my back nor the sound of the men whispering outside. It is strange, isn't it? It is strange how one at the edge of sanity begins to notice the most trivial of things in face of certain demise. I acutely hear the sound of my own breathing. Is that my breathing? How ragged and weak it has become! One would think I was fevered or dying of some inner infection slowly eating away at my lungs. It's funny, breathing, that is. How it changes with mood and situation. There! See how it has quickened?
I swear that I can almost hear individual drops of sweat as they form on my face, squeezed from my pores in a moment of complete agony and distress. Dear God, how I have strayed from the point and now again the pain returns as I veer from madness back into the land of the sane. My stomach has dropped out as if I'd been shot through the middle. Oh God, oh God, oh God! Can I pray to you, God? Am I allowed to seek your comfort when you have turned your back upon me? See how I clench teeth together and grip my hands? See how I squeeze shut my eyes and hold my breath? I am concentrating on you! Answer me, God! What is it that I must do?
God, Father, will you grant me your forgiveness? You claim to be a God of mercy and yet opening my eyes I find nothing has changed. The ship is silent, still floating like living death in an inescapable calm. The men still murmur accusingly and I still inhabit the body of an absolute and utter failure. You don't answer. I cannot blame you for who would ever answer the plea of a wretched thing such as I? Then that leaves me with only one choice. It's strange how clear things suddenly seem now that I realize you have denied me any other course. I must attack the problem straight on like a man. Never mind the maneuvers, I won't bother with asking forgiveness or working things out with the men. Straight at 'em. Straight to the point. I know what I must do now. God, all I ask is that you give me the strength to make things right.
How mysteriously quickly I have found myself up here on deck. The passage from the berth to the open air is not part of my memory. No matter, there is very little that matters now. Oh dear, I do wish that it had been anyone but this young child on watch. He has always been so kind to me and I sincerely regret having to distress him in any way. See? Here I tell him how kind he has been. I shall sorely miss him if not anything else on this floating prison.
How far down the water seems from where I stand. How deep and frightening their depths. Here is something I believe I can handle. Here is something I believe I cannot fail at for who has ever heard of a round shot floating? And yet as I sink into the cold dark depths of the sea I begin to wonder. I had jumped with the idea in mind that I was sacrificing myself for the good of the crew for when I disappear will you not lift the curse? Was this not the bravest thing a man could do? To throw away one's life in order that the whole might live? Is that not bravery? Was this quite the right thing to do? Is this, in all reality, an act of cowardice? Am I choosing the easiest way out of this? No, no I am not a coward. What coward would ever dare to face the silent black cold enveloping me that reaches endlessly into eternal fear?