My story
My story
This was while I was in the military and deployed.
The ship never really slept. Even at 0200, deep in the middle of the ocean, there was always the low metallic groan of the hull, the hum of machinery somewhere below decks, the distant clang of a hatch closing two compartments away. Most nights, those sounds faded into the background. That night, they only made the silence in my head louder.
I lay in my rack staring at the underside of the ceiling above while the red night lighting painted the berthing in dull shadows. Around me, everyone else seemed dead asleep. Snores. Rustling sheets. Someone muttering in a dream.
But sleep wouldn’t come.
After another half hour of staring into darkness, I climbed quietly out of my rack, pulled on my coveralls and slipped into the passageway. The air outside the berthing was cooler, smelling faintly of oil, metal, and salt dragged in from somewhere topside.
I wandered without really thinking about where I was going.
Down one ladderwell. Through a hatch. Past unfamiliar compartments. The ship had become a maze endless gray corridors that all looked the same if you weren’t paying attention.
At first, walking helped. The steady rhythm of my boots against the deck. I passed empty workspaces lit by dim lights, bulletin boards covered in watch schedules, stacks of gear tied down against the bulkheads.
Then I realized I didn’t recognize where I was anymore.
I stopped outside a berthing compartment, thinking maybe it was mine. The exhaustion in my head blurred everything together. I pushed through the curtain.
Wrong berthing.
Before I could even process it, someone barked, “Who the hell—”
A figure moved fast out of the darkness.
Something slammed hard against the side of my head.
The world disappeared.
Consciousness came back in fragments.
Pain first.
Then pressure.
My vision swam in and out beneath the dim red lighting. I felt the cold deck against my cheek and realized someone was holding me down. For one horrible second, my brain refused to understand what was happening.
Then it did.
Panic exploded through me.
I tried to move, tried to speak, but my limbs felt heavy and disconnected. A rough hand shoved me back down. The man above him hissed something angry I couldn’t make out.
I managed half a gasp before another blow cracked against his skull.
Darkness swallowed me again.
When I woke the second time, the compartment was quiet.
No voices. No movement.
Just the distant vibration of the ship underway.
I was alone.
For a long time I couldn’t move. I just laid there staring at the deck, numb, trying to convince myself it hadn’t happened. My head throbbed so badly it made me nauseous.
Eventually I forced myself upright.
Every step back through the ship felt unreal, like I was watching somebody else walk through those passageways. Nobody stopped me. Nobody noticed me.
The shower water was scalding hot.
I stood beneath it far longer than I should have, shoulders shaking, scrubbing at myself until my skin burned red. But no amount of soap or heat made me feel clean.
Afterward, I sat alone on the smoke deck while the ocean stretched black and endless around the ship.
The night wind cut through his damp clothes.
One by one, I took the clothes I’d been wearing and dropped them over the side. The fabric vanished instantly into the darkness below, swallowed by the sea without a sound.
Then I finally let himself cry.