A fishing trip
By DM Fletcher
I woke up at around three. I lay for a while listening to the deep thrum of the ship’s engines. I suddenly thought that I could be lying in my own bed back in Carnassu: the vessel was slipping through the water with hardly a tremor; there was no rolling from side to side clutching the wood of my bunk, like when we lurched out of the harbor of Akbazat at the beginning of our journey, only to meet the angry waves of the Eastern Ocean. “More like a boating lake,’ I thought.