She stands against the wet and cold railing staring at the wake that folds like wet junk mail in the wind behind the ferry, wondering if anyone would see her fall. What would it take to move one's legs up and over and leap into the strait? What would it be like to flail around in the icy ocean and disappear into the big blue? Would she try to keep her head above water or would she allow the waves to suck her under? Would the sharks come sooner or later?

^{Not the wake from the Spirit of Tasmania}

Anything would be better than being inside the ferry. The relentless chill tunes designed to create an ambience only set her nerves on edge. The cleaner was diligent, but fucking annoying. Anyone would think that no one cleaned pre COVID, because now it was a badge of honour for companies such as this to wipe and spray, vaccuum and sweep, as if the pandemic could be kept at bay with obsessive compulsions. She wondered and how he could bear an eight hour shift and not realise how perhaps picking up the fucking chairs and not scraping them across the floor might be better. But then no one seemed to care about anyone else anymore.

One point five metres distant, her ass. To the right, a teenager sat sullenly with the paper mask around his chin whilst his parents nodded into their coca colas. A toddler screamed around the corner, his sea legs better than the parents who reeled after him, unconcerned about how their child might be affecting the childless passengers who would much rather a little peace and quiet, thankyou very much. She didn't care why the laws for social distancing existed, but she did think they were a silver lining. If only people would obey such directives.

And so, the deck, and the cold water spray on her face as she breathed out thoughts of murder and drowning. Soon, she would be on land, and thinking better ways to travel.

This was written to vent, taking the 'murder' prompt from this post in the Freewrite single prompt option. Given the fact I've been on this ferry all day, I'm sure you can forgive me for my clear irritation despite trying to breath and show a little compassion for those on the same journey as me. I assure you I feel a lot more kindness than my alter ego in this post would suggest. But writing about irritation and murder is far more fun.