They screamed, but they weren't screaming in joy.
In front of the ship, a boulder. No. A giant mound of stone, large enough to consume it whole.
It came closer. The ship wouldn't stop, even if they wanted to.
The waves began to recede as the ship projected past the sandbar. The bow, which only a captain would step on, was nearly embracing the rough mountain ahead of it.
Samir hugged the book tightly and protected it like an animal guarding their vitals as he lay flat on the floor.
Everyone took cover, covering their heads. They all ran for shelter under the main hall. Malik stood outside, staring at the glory of the monolith above him, but he felt a delicate arm pull him aside.
Kaya, with dark eyes, used all her strength to toss Malik into the hall with the rest of them.
As Malik fell, he analyzed her distressed face. She looked flustered while her hair twirled in motion.
Her composure yearned for his safety, yet looked pale, as if it cost her. Her dark eyes held a burning intensity that wouldn't look anywhere else but him as she mouthed words to herself.
Malik couldn't quite tell what she said, but he could feel the way she felt.
He noticed that she shoved him because he was the only one outside, but would she pick him if he wasn't the only one?
She hadn't grabbed anyone else. If it didn't come to me, would she still do it with that look of treasuring on her face?
When his back planted into the floor, he saw her body sway in desire as she came closer.
The shadow of the boulder was getting near the bow of the ship, ready to collide at any moment.
Kaya rushed forward and held his hand as she panted. Their palms touched as their fingers overlapped, until—
CRASH!!
. . .
Dust. Clouds. Bliss.
The entire ship felt it.
However, the bow absorbed the impact. The nose of the ship was deviated as it pointed toward the coast of the beach right beside it.
Everyone lifted their bodies and patted themselves. Each of them was surprised at the lack of injuries they sustained, as if land would delay their despair, just for a moment.
As Malik stood on both feet, he offered his hand to Kaya.
"Need me to lift you up?" he asked.
She raised her hand, and her arm shook as her body arose. The shock didn't seem to be from weakness; it felt more like a shock of pure enthusiasm.
However, Kaya kept a calm expression. "Thank you, Malik."
He nodded as he walked alongside the rest of the crew, who stood up to assess the matter.
As sunlight seeped through the open arch of the hallway, Kaya noticed the one who hadn't moved.
Quickly, she frowned. "Why are you holding tight to that thing like your life depends on it?"
Samir adjusted his body, and he released the tension from his arms. Then it fell onto his lap lightly, as if its contents didn't weigh more than the ship and the boulder.
"Without it, nothing can be proven. We're lost in our destination. We wouldn't want to be lost in our heads too, now would we?" Samir diffused.
"Yet the fact you let it lay on your lap like it's something you read casually shows you already disregarded that idea long ago for something far cheaper," Kaya said flatly.
She resisted the flow of amber rushing to her eyes, but her frown remained stagnant.
"I only do what's best," Samir added.
Kaya interjected, "Yeah, maybe for you."
. . .
A brief moment of silence.
The slight gasps of awe outside the corridor echoed in the wind.
Kaya shook her head in disapproval, one reminiscent of a captain. Instantly, she waltzed out, blending in with the amber, warm sunlight, a hue that reminded her of when she would deeply gaze her irises in the mirror.
Samir sighed. He rubbed his eyes until they turned red, and he held the book tightly once again.
I understand why nobody would want to see what's in it. It takes a hungry man to digest this kind of truth.
His bones cracked as he stood up, like he held onto it for far too long.
This is the antidote to my decisions. I just don't know where to inject it yet.
Samir left on the opposite side of the corridor where the sunlight hadn't reached. He walked across a shadowed path, overhearing quiet murmurs on the other side.
Pressing the book against his heart, he remembered the vision. It was an image he wouldn't like to keep in his mind, but one that he knew he had to keep.
I despise everything about it. That one page specifically. But if it wasn't me, who would want to keep such a description in their head?
I remember it clearer than today. When I rip off the bandage, I hope it becomes a distant recollection.
Samir imagined that page once more. Holding the book, he opened to the page he so hated.
Within it appeared to be a torn-apart ship within a lower deck.
He saw a young boy, smiling brightly. His long brown hair lay on his shoulders, and his eyes looked strange. In what seemed to be a distortion of the lens, his pupils were a mix of red and purple. It looked as if there were a lighter color missing, one that made him whole.
Thick scars lay jagged across him, wrapped around his upper body. Even looking at it sparked a sense of pain in the eyes of the beholder.
The boy was tangled in wires, or were they IVs? Nonetheless, he was positioned like a puppet on a string. Beside him, a taller figure with a vague gender appeared to smile, guiding him. The figure had white hair and was pale as snow.
Behind them . . . was what made him want to never open it again.
Red. A blood-red background.
Eyes. Tongues. Intestines. Ears. Hands. All scattered and displayed like artisanal pieces.
Surrounding it stood the people who were missing those corresponding body parts. However, they held no agony behind their demeanor. Instead, they smiled. A smile brighter than anybody else in the photo.
"Wait . . ." Samir whispered.
He noticed something new.
The boy was holding it. It was dark and shone in the flash of the camera.
The bayonet.
But that's not what confused Samir. What confused him was the other hand—
Is he holding a spine!?
. . .
As Samir held the spine of the book, he gazed into the large spine that the young boy held.
That can't be. It looks like it's from an adult male.
Samir's hand shook as he stared at the picture. No matter how much context or explanation could be given, the picture stayed the same. That haunting sentiment remained with each glance.
At the bottom of the page, there was a letter. It was in a familiar handwriting, but it still couldn't be mistaken.
It read: "The boy is my utter salvation. An atonement for the suffering I've ensued. When life is taken, new life, no matter where it comes from, justifies it."
"By having a tainted soul birthed from ashes, I can finally be appointed at the pinnacle of the summit."
Then one final line, spaced out: "Oh, how I love my youthful ambitions. There's so many delusions to reach for."
In the corner, a letter stood out.
"C." Samir whispered.
. . .
Thump.
Samir closed the book.
He contemplated, and this time, he marched forward. He held the book with less tension than before.
Has this led me astray from what I have to do? Or has it distanced me from what I should do?
Samir let the book hang off his index finger and thumb as he walked forward, paying no attention to the crew on the other side. The sunlight finally hit him, an amber glow that made every step feel worth it.
He wouldn't think. He simply kept moving.
Turning a corner—
Knock. Knock.
Then a voice echoed, a former shell of order. "Come in," it said.
Samir slowly turned the knob.
Opening it, he saw him. He was facing the wall as his back faced Samir. His gray hairs remained dull in the sunlight.
Cyrus held his hands tightly behind his back as he tapped his foot, weaker than before.
"You're in the medical room," Samir stated.
"I cannot be saved, despite my tainted medications," he responded.
Samir held the book up. "Uncle. These golden pages, from what abyss did you attain it?"
Cyrus tapped his foot one last time. He hadn't looked back. "Golden pages from golden miracles. Only sharp truths can come from sharp blades."
He cleared his throat. "And I have been ended by the golden blade."
Samir remained silent, loosely hanging onto the book. It weighed less than usual.
He stared at the old man's back, and his tied hands with white knuckles, and decided to take his leave.
Closing the door behind him, something fell out of the book.
It fell flat without resistance.
Samir grabbed it, but it couldn't be any lighter than a feather. Inspecting it, he saw it.
A note.
Reading it, it said: "Gray waters flood, cackling. Ships will sink, inevitably."
At the bottom, a date: 12/31/3000
This was . . . years ago. Ten years ago. At least, I think it's been. But that day, that month, I recognize it. I'm sure that's a birthday.
It doesn't make sense to me. Nobody could've put this note in here. I always had the book. The only time I didn't have it was—
"Samir." A voice said. The voice sounded like it came from the pocket of its figure.
As Samir turned his head up, he saw him.
All the voice gave, was a half-smile.