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Die Twice |
| Written by P.C. Atwell | |
| Sunday, 11 May 2008 | |
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Share it:      The night was cloudy and moonless. It was the perfect night for this. Ian had everything he was supposed to wear out on the flight deck of the USS Jeaneu after dark: A cranial and a float coat to save his life incase he went overboard and a set of dog tags. On his dog tags that hung around his neck, Ian had engraved a saying that had been passed through his family for generations "To hate is to die, hate death, die twice" The flight deck was a quiet place. There were a few marines patroling the deck, but none of them had seen Ian sneak down here. He had chosen a spot along the portside cat walk. It was secluded and the only place where ce could dangle his feed over the edge. Ian sat there looking into the pitch black that was churning twenty feet below his feet. Ian thought about death and wondered what it would be like. He didn't like the idea of predestination like the Christian's believed. He like the idea of a second chance. Reincarnation, being born back into the world to start one's life over. He took off his cranial, it wouldn't hinder his efforts, but it definatly wouldn't help him. The float coat is what needed to come off. Ian didn't want to leave any chance for himself to change his mind at the last minutes. Ian looked around one last time to be sure no one was watching him. He unhooked the ropes that ran across the catwalk and moved himself closer to the edge. He looked down in the churning blackness, Exhale, air in the lungs will make a body float, and threw himself over, into the blackness. Twenty feet took a lifetime to fall as he stared into the blackness. He snapped his eyes shut when his feet hit the water. After he was completely submerged his flipped over and began to swim deeper into the ocean. Ian wanted to be absolutely positive he had no chance to make it back to the surface in case he began to panic and swim for the surface. Deeper he swam until the pressure felt unbearable. Maybe the weight of the water would kill him instead, but Ian would not stop and kept struggling for more depth, more distance from the world. His body began to tell Ian that it needed oxygen. That he should start breathing again but he fought the urge. He knew he would black out soon and then it would all be over. Soon, Ian began to realize that he was going to loose the stuggle over himself. Quickly, he spun and and flipped over until he was completely disoriented and couldn't remember up from down. If there had been a moon this night, Ian would still be able to see it and still have a chance to save himself. His mind began to panic, his body ached to breath and replenish the oxygen in his veins. Ian lost control. He wanted to live! Why did he ever think he wanted to die?! He needs air! Which way to the surface? Ian had no idea. At that moment his lungs forced themselves open and Ian inhaled a lung full of the salty sea water and began to choke. As he choked he flailed for the surface, for air, but it was too late. Ians body went limp as he black out. He stopped flailing, stopped trying to breath and eventually his heart stopped beating. Ian's corpsed sand for days and weeks, drifting with the ocean currents. When his body finally came to rest at the bottom of the ocean, now impossible to recognize thanks to the fish that found his flesh appetizing, it rested next to the skeleton of another man. A man who had had a similiar ideas as Ian. Around his neck, on the tattered remains of the unknown man's dogtags once held an inscription that read, "To hate is to die, hate death and die twice." Copyright 2008 P.C. Atwell |
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