Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 307

This week's picture prompt was created by Jeffrey Smith, it's called Trust Your Gut. he has some incredible art, and there might well be another one soon. 

A short piece this week. Maybe a survivor of the shift, as depicted in my series, Tricky's Tales. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here. 

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.




Adrift
He gripped thesides of the little boat, praying that it wouldn’t capsize and send him intothe churning masses that were once sea. There had to be land out here, itcouldn’t all be covered; he couldn’t be the only survivor.

The swirling waters took on their ownpattern, a mesmerising one that took him further towards the setting sun. Asthe ocean rocked and rose either side of him, he felt like he was in a tunnel, drivenever onwards. He only hoped there was a destination, one that didn’t involvehis death.

He’d lost the oars days ago, and had beendrifting with the current for some time. He hoped it wasn’t sending him incircles but instead to a shore, where there was dry land and people.

Was he lucky to be in his boat? Maybe. Buthe didn’t currently feel like it. He just kept his eyes on the setting sun, andprepared himself for another night watching the starlit sky – a sky he hadbarely paid attention to until there were no more light sources to disturb it. Thetumultuous events that led to him being in this boat were a blur in his memory,much like the landmass as it had shifted and been deluged by water.

He didn’t know how many days he’d beenwithout food or drink. The spray from the ocean kept his face wet and coveredwith water, which he would occasionally lick as it ran down his face over hismouth. He wanted to dry out and drink a glass of sweet cold water. Hunger wasthere eating at his stomach, but it was just a background noise compared to thethirst. And he just wanted to stop feeling this churning, inside and out, andfeel alive and safe again.

Was that a piece of land, there on the horizon,its hills silhouetted against the sun and cutting into the shape of it? Hecouldn’t be sure. It could be a mirage, a trick of the light, a play in hismind’s eye as the dehydration disrupted his cognition. It had happened before.But he didn’t keep his eyes off it as he was pulled closer by the sucking anddrawing of the waves; he had to have hope, without hope there was no survival.And as the shape grew larger in front of the brilliant disc of light, his hopegrew with it.