Out there, a storm so strong that I feel like a toy being thrown from side to side by an angry dog, as the sound of the rain and thunder deaf me.
I keep track of the time I am here using my reliable wrist watch, gift of my deceased father, a man who always cared much for me. Every time the cruel storm gives me a chance, I look at it and try to stay in tune with reality.
Six hours after my ship sunk. Six hours since the moment I was dragged in the darkness by a man who saved my life, probably at expense of his own. Six hours since I heard human voices for the last time, crying, screaming and shouting orders. My boat had more than five hundred passengers like me, and at least a hundred sailors, maybe more.
This ominous feeling that i am the last survivor crush me with a burden most wouldn't understand: they would say "be thankful for be alive", and i would say I can't, not after hearing men, women and child asking to be save and be unable to do anything.
Six men, the capacity of this boat.
Keep six men, dry, feed and hydrated for a week, while transponders scream a rescue signal to satellites everywhere. Once I were told that such boats could actually support twice more, twelve souls, for three day. Rescue usually takes only one.
And yet, I lay here alone, the emptiness of this cell crushing my mind. I'm not a good person, I am a man who cheat in his taxes, when my boss isn't looking I escape job earlier, I often don’t give tips, don’t go to church for about two years, don’t donate money to good causes...nothing. My life wasn't worth 12 other's.
At seventh hour my mind starts to slip. Or I hope so. Out there, the sound of screaming, the voices of the boat. Fighting against the motion that throw me like a ragdoll against the bouncing walls of this boat, closed like a tent, I reach for the door, and scream in answer, I say to them were I am, tell them to be strong. But the word is a dark turmoil out there. I see no one.
The storm now is calmer, nine hours since the tragedy. I think I fainted, for I heard a voice whispering to me:
"Be strong."
Startled I cry, don’t know why, and drag myself to the door again, a rubber wall closed by a zipper. I open it and scream at the top of my lungs:
"PLEASE, EVERYONE, BE STRONG!"
But outside, nothing but darkness.
After twelve hours, I see ghosts when I close my eyes, blurred images of people who jump at me and say I didn't deserve to live, they want me to jump out the boat and die with them. It's something so strong that I can't resist. I crawl to the door, to jump in the cold brutal sea and die with them.
But when I touch the zipper a voice whispers at my ear, strong, familiar:
"Don't give up of living, fight and survive!"
I burst into tears, open the zipper and once again, I scream so laud I feel my throat hurt:
"'EVERYONE! DON’T GIVE UP OF LIVING, FIGHT AND SURVIVE!!"
But then, only the dark and the storm are there.
Fifteen hours. I feel like I’m surrounded by them, angry and resentful, in the darkness of the life boat, they summon me to jump and die, they say its the right thing to do, that it will be for the best.
Then, the familiar voice talk to me, not whispering anymore, and for a second, is like a burst of light blow and makes all the angry voices vanish in the storm.
"You are not alone, you have to fight! You have to survive!"
I cry again, and once more I drag my tired body to the opening and scream against the storm:
"YOU ARE NOT ALONE! YOU HAVE TO FIGHT! YOU HAVE TO SURVIVE!!!"
Twenty hours.
My body is cold and full of bruises; I have no more tears to shed. I remember all the times I did wrong, all the times I forgot to say "thank you” or "I love you". I lived like a spoiled child, after money. But now I see I was wrong: Life is more than money, is family, is friends, and is enjoy good times, while you can.
Family.
Friends.
Good times.
I wasted my time and turned my back to such treasures. Thinking like that is only fair I die here, cold, scared and alone.
I don't know how long I am here anymore: Could be years, or seconds. I crawled for a time that looked like an eternity, to finally reach the opening.
I can't take it anymore. I want it to stop. I regret so much, I am so alone, I HAVE to end it.
I open the boat for the last time, but what I see is pure blinding white light.
A hand reaches for mine, and I see a familiar face. He smile at me and day everything is OK, I am safe now.
His warm hand closes around mine, and I feel the sea water and rubber on it. The man uses a orange suit and a helmet. He holds me tight, and I see above me a red and white helicopter. The sound of its propellers kills the sound of the storm.
I faint as I hear them telling me that everything will be alright now.
In my sleep I am at the boat again. I’m so scared I can’t even think properly, for the first time I realize I am probably the last person aboard. Then he comes and grabs my arm, shouting "Quick son! This way!"
It can’t be, is my father! He put me into the last boat and put me out of the harm's way.
Now I am in the boat, alone. The darkness is gone, and I see someone sitting by my side.
He gives me strength, and shout me to fight!
I can’t believe I didn't recognize his voice, is my father, again!
When I sunk in self pity and despised my own life, he cried and comfort me telling me that it was non-sense, I was a good son.
Every moment, he was there for me.
I wake up in a white hospital room.
At my side, a full infirmary, familiar faces, children and parents smiling. Hurt, but happy to be alive.
No fear or suffering, I even think I’m still dreaming, when an angelical nurse softly touch me and ask how I am:
-Where am I?
-This is
I am informed that no life was lost that day. Smiling and thanking god I shout:
-That’s why I had to fight!
A child in the bed next to mine and his mother look at me with great surprise.
I am about to apologies, when she say something incredible
-You were the man shouting during the storm! I can recognize your voice! You told us to be strong and not give up!
Soon patients on the other beds rise and say the same. I rest surprised once again.
How could those, in different boats, split by a raging storm, hear my voice? How those all could hear it?
I didn’t know.
What I know is life is, indeed, worth fighting for.
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