Shipwrecks are scary things. It's amazing anyone can survive them at all, and yet a simple google search shows many tales of those who manage to live - mostly by chance.
Below is a story about two such survivors, one a hero in the time of need, and the other, a latent hero.
Author of a Shipwreck
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Ryan stood blocking the way to the gangplank, both hands resting gently on her shoulders.
Amanda avoided making eye contact and saw the huge expanse of dark blue behind him that threatened to take her in. She met Ryan’s gaze and nodded with a determined purse of her lips.
“Yea. Let’s do this.”
She knew this trip was as much for him as it was for her. After all, he had been there on that ill-fated day. But he seemed to cope with the tragedy far better than she had.
He held her hand and led her onto the gangplank—awkward, since it was only wide enough for one person at a time. But she refused to let go and fixed her eyes on his back. She tried to dismiss the image from her mind of walking the plank of her own execution.
Soon the walkway was replaced by white and wood: she had reached the ship. It was a much smaller vessel - so very unlike the last ship she boarded, the MV Senopati Nusantara. And yet, the lifesavers, the rafts, the railings and stairs of the main deck all reminded her of that ship. For a moment her steps faltered. When Ryan noticed she had stopped, he turned to her with concern writ on his brow.
Amanda breathed deeply and took the lead as she made her way toward the seating at the bow as they had previously agreed. She wanted to see what was coming at all times.
She sat alone in her own silent world, the white knuckles of their clasped hands the only telling sign that something was off.
“There. This doesn’t seem so bad.” Ryan smiled at her.
Ryan, the forever optimist. But that is what I love about him.
He had stuck through this thing with her, even when she told him she couldn’t remember what happened. Or when she was afraid to take a bath. Or when she couldn’t write anymore. But he seemed to understand her struggles, even if he didn’t have the same issues, and supported her. It was a rough first year of marriage. She felt bad that she wasn’t able to be a better wife for him.
I’m sure he didn’t expect the “for worse” part of our vows to come quite so soon.
She couldn’t even remember their honeymoon. At least she recalled the actual wedding and reception, and even the flight to Indonesia. Anything after that was veiled, like trying to remember a childhood dream.
They had decided to go on this boat ride up the coast of California hoping that she could remember and move on with her life.
She saw a crew member stand by the railing and remove a shiny silver object on a chain from his neck. Was that a whistle? He brought it to his lips and blew into it…
…Amanda awoke to the sound of a sharp, high-pitched whistle of a teapot. A soft breeze played with the gauzy white curtains that partially covered the doors to the balcony and the ocean view.
She sighed as she lay back in bed, basking in the memory of her wedding two days prior. The latch on the bedroom door clicked softly as Ryan crept in. Amanda, pretending to still be asleep, saw through her eyelashes that he had made her breakfast with her favorite tea. She couldn’t keep up the facade any longer and broke into laughter as he approached with the tray, an equally wide smile on his face…
...Amanda blinked back to the present, watching the crewman who had just blown the whistle, a silly grin on his face. One of the other crew members looked disapprovingly at him.
“Quit your fooling around, Mikey.”
“Ya, ya, I know.” Mikey sulked off to some duty while the other crewman announced over the ship’s PA that their departure would be in just a few moments.
No sooner had he finished speaking of the emergency evacuation procedures - to which Amanda listened intently - than did the ship lurch into motion. Amanda took in a breath through clenched teeth, watching the dock and dry land and everything that was safe slip away from her. She gripped the seat with her other hand and looked at Ryan pleadingly.
“This was a horrible mistake! I have to get off!” She sprung to her feet and made for the lifeboats, but Ryan wrapped her firmly but gently in his arms. “Hey, hey now...it’s OK. You’re gonna be fine. See? There’s not a cloud in the sky, and I’ve been checking the weather every 10 minutes.” He pulled out his phone to show her the weather was all clear for the entire week.
She stared at the the lapping waves of the harbor, but all she could imagine were torrential currents beneath the deceptively calm surface. When she looked at the sky, however, there was not a cloud to be found.
“I’m...I’ll be OK.” She calmed a bit and sat down shakily.
Just then, a loud sound of metal grating on metal came from the ship…
...the sound came from deep within the ship. She knew it shouldn’t sound like that. They had been ordered below decks due to the storm, but the ship felt more like a rusty coffin than her savior. The ship lurched again, as if it were a plaything for the sea, a feather for the wind. Amanda felt a coldness seep into her feet and she realized the ship was taking on water and was already up to their ankles.
Screams of the passengers, who up until now had been polite and obedient to the crew, rose in cries for help. The crowd, like the sea with its own surging power, undulated toward the stairs, toward the lifeboats on deck. Amanda was swept away with the tide of people, her hand slipping from Ryan’s as everyone tried to make their escape.
The water, up to her knees now, no longer seemed cold. It was the air that was cold, the people in this room who sought only their own survival. The crew had abandoned them at the first sign of trouble, taking lifeboats well before the passengers knew what was going on.
Amanda struggled to reach Ryan, somehow able to pick out his voice amidst the other cries. She saw his face in a fleeting moment, quickly covered up again by torsos and arms and faces that meant nothing to her.
She fought to reach where she last saw him, taking any opening left by those wanting to get past her just as much as she wanted to get past them. But when she arrived there, he was nowhere to be found.
A hand grabbed her arm in a vice grip and she turned to see Ryan, a look of relief plain on his face.
“We have to get to the lifeboats!” They held each other closely to create an impenetrable bulwark as they waded in the waste-high water, side by side toward the freedom of the steps...
...Mikey had reappeared from the upper deck with a rope and had opened a rusty hatch that grated in protest. After tossing the rope in, he had simply let the hatch fall with a crash. Amanda jumped with a yelp at the sound, and Mikey gave a sheepish look as he murmured an apology and scuttled away.
Tears welled up as she turned to Ryan.
“Oh God! There were so many people! And they died, Ryan! They all died!” Her words turned to dampened sobs as she buried her face in his shoulder.
Amanda remembered pushing people out of her way in panic. Of getting in a lifeboat and not wanting to let anyone else in because they’d jeopardize their survival. Unlike her, Ryan had helped others get aboard. His selflessness had shamed her in that moment. It had shamed them all.
“Shhh…not all of them died. There were other survivors like us.”
He was right. The long days floating on the raft, the endless waiting for rescue. They had pulled in as many survivors as they could and divided their sparse rations with them. Their shared suffering had galvanized them somehow. Instead of competing for survival, they had needed one another to survive.
After the helicopters brought them to safety, however, none of them had tried to get in touch with one another. They had all gone their separate ways to return to the life that was before the shipwreck. Before they were faced with their own shameful selfishness.
Amanda’s crying subsided, her emotions spent for the time being. Her grieving wasn’t over yet, but she now knew what she had to do. She pulled away from Ryan and looked up into his strong, blue eyes.
“I need to write about this. About what happened, and how ugly we were, and how beautiful we were. And how so many didn’t make it out alive.”
Amanda studied the ocean. Its gentle waves told her it was finally sated, that it no longer wanted to pull her down with the others it had claimed.
“I need to write this for those who survived.”
Note: the whistle that Mikey blew on is known as a Boatswain’s or Bosun’s whistle, used in previous centuries on naval ships to give orders to crew members. The sound is eerily similar to that of a teapot boiling.
This story was written as a submission for 
If you enjoyed this post, please follow, upvote, and resteem. I write posts on music, food, and short stories about anything.
