Andrew feels the current shift in the afternoon. It’s gradual at first, the waves changing so subtly that Andrew will not have noticed it if he hasn’t got one hand in the water.

He’s been keeping as close to the water’s edge as possible, watching, waiting for a change. But now that it has, Andrew finds himself scrambling. He’s been expecting a change but not this soon. After only a few hours carrying him towards the island, the current is now moving away, taking him east instead of north.

Andrew controls his panic. He can’t waste any time. He’s made progress. He just needs to keep it. If he can’t move towards the island he must try at least to not drift further away.

Besides, he’s prepared. Andrew reaches behind him and picks up the long plastic paddle he’s made earlier. He plunges it deep into the water and tries to row against the current.

The flimsy piece of plastic snaps after the third stroke. Annoyed but not entirely surprised, Andrew throws the plastic aside and uses the wooden plank he’s prepared. His Plan B.

Except that doesn’t work either. It isn’t obvious before, but the plank is way too thin to move any water. It’s barely any different from Andrew using his hand. He throws the wood aside. Now, he panics. He hasn’t come up with a Plan C.

He looks around. The only other piece of material he hasn’t used is a rusty pipe. Andrew hasn’t touched the thing since getting it, for fear of cutting himself on the poisonous metal. He still doesn’t want to touch it, but he is out of options. The current is taking him away from the island. If he looks now, he can see the tall tree moving sideways. Too long like this and it’ll be nearly impossible for him to get back to it by himself.

He comes up with an idea.

Throughout his ordeal, the only piece of soft clothing Andrew has left on him are his underwear and socks. He isn’t about to expose his entire self to the sea winds yet, so he grabs both socks and wraps them around the base of the pipe. Then, he ties the wooden plank against the other end, and using nails he sticks the broken pieces of plastic onto the plank.

Now, he has something to work with. Andrew immediately puts his creation to the test. Pushing the paddle into the waves, Andrew can feel it already catching the current. He pulls against it, putting his weight behind it.

The raft stops moving.

Heart pounding, Andrew rows with all his might. The paddle stays together, the many parts of it straining but not breaking. In front of him, Andrew sees the island moving towards him.

He’s doing it. He’s going in the right direction.

Andrew’s chest tightens in exhilaration as the island grows bigger. Soon, he can see the island in its entirety. It is not particularly big, perhaps that of a village. But it is land. And, oh, what a delightful thought it is to walk upon it!

Andrew doubles his efforts. Sweat has gathered on his skin, stinging him whenever the wind blows. He barely feels it, rowing without stopping into the evening and then night. Desperation is his energy, hope is his drive. Even as the sun goes down he does not stop, using the moonlight as a guide instead. He keeps going, watching as the mountainous shadow grows ever-steadily above the horizon.

He arrives at dawn. Exhausted to the brink of delirium, it isn’t until Andrew’s raft slides up against the sand that he realizes he’s done it. His arms, locked in their constant movement, find resistance. He stops, and has to consciously force his stiff fingers to let go of the pipe. The makeshift oar clatters off the side of the raft and onto the sand below. Andrew follows it with his eyes. And then he too, topples over onto dry land.

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It is noon when Andrew opens his eyes again. The sun is beating down onto his exposed back and legs, the ocean lapping at his toes. When he stands, Andrew can hear his body crackling like firewood. Wind stings at his raw skin, his leathery lips, his burned scalp. But none of that registers in his mind. Because right now, his attention is not on pain or hunger or thirst, but on the array of vibrant colors spread out in front of him, colors he’s not seen in weeks, maybe months.

No. Lifetimes.

In every direction, lush, green vegetation stretches deep into the island. Sparse shrubberies prelude the dense and vine-covered woods further on. Andrew looks east, then west, tracing the glittering beach until it curves out of view.

His chest swells with pride. He’s made it. He’s really done it. With his own two hands, he’s snatched life out of the jaws of death.

Andrew takes the first step, wobbling as his legs learn how to walk again. When he feels himself falling he doesn’t fight it, instead embracing the sandy ground as he crashes onto it. Laughter bubbles out of him. Free, grateful.

He’s survived. He will live.

The sand is warm, reaching into Andrew’s insides like particles of sunshine. Andrew climbs back up, feeling lightheaded with glee. His legs are still jelly, so he crawls, leaving behind his raft and all the horrors he’s experienced on it. He gets to the end of the beach line, where sand disappears slowly into yellowed grass. He finds a nearby tree and leans against it, enjoying for the first time in a long while the coolness of shade.

There, under the protection of the tree, he sleeps once more.

Only to wake again to the fiery sensation of being consumed alive. Andrew jumps up and begins to wack at his arms and legs. All along his body, moving pinpricks of pain stab into him, wriggling through his skin to crawl along his bones. Andrew lets out a terrified howl and makes a dash for the water. The moon is out now, casting the waves in a silvery glow.

He jumps in.

The water is lukewarm from under the sun, but freezes against Andrew’s burning skin. He welcomes the icy pain as it covers over the fire. And soon, he doesn’t feel the itchiness anymore. Standing up, he sucks in a breath as wind bites at his sun-fried body. Even so, it is a better feeling than the one he woke up with.

Andrew begins wading towards onto the shore again. He treads carefully, as if whatever tormented him may still be in the water, hiding in the shallows.

But nothing greets him on or in the water, save for his raft. Carried by the ebbing tide, the raft is a dark beast whose form is grotesquely abnormal. The gentle moonlight only further emphasizes the unnatural look of the cobbled-together vessel.

Andrew pauses in the water to study it. From where he is, he can only make out the shape of the raft. He almost cannot believe that such an ugly, small thing has been the only barrier between him and the ocean floor. It doesn’t seem like a water vessel at all, but an amalgamated slab of bloated logs and strung-together pieces that shouldn’t have held together but by some miracle did.

No, Andrew shouldn’t think like that. Hideous as it is, that thing bobbing on the water is his raft. And it is only thanks to it that he’s even survived for so long, let alone reach this island.

Andrew wades towards it. Even if he doesn’t like it, the raft deserves a proper retirement on land, not out there in the unforgiving water.

Moonlight dulls as stars disappear. Andrew can barely see in front of him, and has to stare hard at the dark shape as he approaches. And as he does, something about the raft hits him as strange. Stranger than even his Frankensteinian raft has a right to be.

And then he realizes what it is. Something is poking out from the far side of his raft. Something not part of the vessel.

Is it his coat, or some other piece of material that has caught against the wind?

Andrew slows, crouching so his chest is submerged. The shape moves too, growing in height and form as something long protrudes out of its middle.

Then, it separates.

Two arms, both holding the long protrusion, set it down onto the raft.

Realization hits Andrew like a tidal wave. It’s the Sea God, delivering another plank to him.

Before he knows it, Andrew is standing. No, now he’s running, arms waving in the air and yelling.

“Hey!”

The shape immediately stiffens. Andrew thinks he sees two glowing orbs. Eyes?

“Hey!” Water splashing onto his face he runs, pulling his legs through the shallows. “Hey, wait!”

The shadow turns, stretching back into the waves.

“I just want to talk!”

The moon chooses now to reappear. Bright blue light shines across the raft, illuminating the moldy logs and highlighting a twin-leafed fishtail raised high in the air.

Then, amidst a bloom of cobalt water, the tail vanishes.

Andrew stops, one hand frozen in place towards the now empty raft.

It is quiet again, but inside his mind, explosions of light tear through the darkness as everything starts to make sense.

“Oh, gods,” he whispers. “What have we done.”