Till death do us part, I thought, as the one girl I loved passed on to the next world, with me holding her hand and a fiberglass spear through her stomach. Her head dropped, and her hand fell from mine. I checked she was gone, then stood and walked back to the fire, where the handful of us that remained were watching me. I didn't cry. I couldn't cry. There were no tears left in the wasted, skinny bag of bones my body had become. That we had all become. Anyway, I had cried too much these past weeks. If that's how long we had been here...
We were partying on Michael's dad's yacht, seeing how it was Michael's seventeenth. The twelve of us (I'll go into names later) plus Michael's dad -Troy- were traveling around the Philippines for a fortnight with plentiful supplies of alcohol, food and -unbeknown to Troy at first- weed. The latter was supplied by, surprisingly, Zoey. Not normally known as one for breaking laws, Zoey had really come up trumps when she turned up with three bags; the largest full of clothes, the next one down full of alcohol, and finally a rucksack that was absolutely stuffed to the gunwales with cannabis. We hadn't enquired as to where it had come from, mainly because we were too busy getting smacked off our tits to care. I even caught a Troy having a sneaky puff at the helm on the sixth afternoon. He tried to hide it, but I winked cheekily and he settled for a sheepish grin.
Currently, it was day nine, and it had dawned bright and quickly. At least, thats what I was told, having woken up at eleven with Steve's feet nearly up my nose We had got ridiculously drunk last night, having taken it easy before this to pace ourselves. However, around seven, Jerry had found the supply of ships rum. Technically, it was just a small barrel he had found and filled with rum, but when you're drunk 'Ship's rum' sounds better. And it's much easier to pronounce when you're wrecked out of your face. I got up slowly, suffering from the after effects of last night. I realised I must be the first one up, due to the lack of noise from inside the hull. As I headed for the ladder leading to the deck, I noticed a distinct lack of movement under my feet. Discounting it as unimportant, I climbed up carefully, not yet in full control of my body. I emerged onto the poop deck, shading my eyes from the glare. Then froze. Troy was lying beside the wheel, either deeply asleep or unconscious. And even more chillingly, we were no longer on the sea...
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