You can read part 2 here

floating

I touched every inch of the walls around me. With my back to the hole I came through ( being the floor of the cabin), I faced unknowingly the starboard side of the bottom of daddy’s boat. My eyes began to adjust. My left contact was gone and I could feel it swelling. Small cut directly on the crease. I didn’t think twice about it. I started to do an assessment of my injuries. Eye swollen, lip busted and swollen, leg sore, and hands bruising from banging. I suddenly realized that there was glitter. Sprinkling around me. Reflecting over the pieces of metal the bobbed in the small space.

Light! There was light! I looked up and saw a 4-5 inch long, 1.5 inches wide plastic tube. Opaque in color, the tube had a small glow of light. It was made of heavy plastic. The end was clamped with a cloth-like piece. I wrapped my hands around and pulled. Twisted. Pushed. Hit. Bent. Yanked. Wrenched. Tore. Heaved. Jerked. I put every inch of my muscles into moving that tubing to get to the light. And it didn’t even budge. I was frantic. My strength wasn’t enough. I was frustrated.

I yelled at God to save me. To please save me. To help me think. Help me get out of here. In between cries to God, I yelled for my daddy. I kept pushing my self down into the water and debris to find a hatch. To find an opening to the surface. Items began to float up and fill my space. I got distracted by the little reflection of the pipe light glittering off of metal. I reached out numerous times thinking that it was an opening to the surface, but my hand always connected with metal. I felt like Merida from the Disney cartoon movie, Brave, following the will-o-wisps. Except mine weren’t leading me to safety, but to more darkness. Despair.

To my left was wall one. Directly in front was wall two. To my right, wall three, and behind me, the entrance to the cabin floor was wall four. Wall number one had particle board covering it. I wrenched the boards away looking for a hole. Tore fingernails and skin. I would have broken bones to find a hole behind those boards.

I stopped and told myself to think. Sabrina you know this boat like the back of your hand. Your daddy’s taught you a lot about this boat. Think about where you could be. The front boat has a hatch to the surface. There is a connecting opening between the cabin entrance to the engine room and the opening in the front of the if boat.

I suddenly registered that Cody was screaming my name. CODDDDYYYYY. My cries changed instantly. I began beating on the boat again. Screeching his name. He was closer. He was right there. I could hear him walking on the boat; his footsteps echoing lightly. Watching the light, waiting for him to just pull whatever the tube was out and devise a plan on how to get to me free. Abruptly all of the light vanished. My heart stopped. My stomach twisted. My chest seized. Shrieking I told him not to block the light, I’m right here, don’t take away the light. Instantly the light was back and Cody was speaking to me. “Sabrina the boat is filling up with water, you have to get out. You have to swim to the hatch in the front of the boat. You have to get there. The boat is filling up with water.” I frantically cried to him that I didn’t know which way the front of the boat was.

Back to the walls, wall number 3 was solid until about the middle of my thigh and towards my hips. Then there was an opening that I could put the end of my legs in. I kept kicking my legs inside feeling to see if I could find a hatch. To find the opening. Cody kept telling me to swim to his voice. I yelled that I was in a compartment, there wasn’t any way out but the way I came in. ( Plus, if you, the reader, don’t already know this, I’m partially deaf in my right ear. Locating noises is not one of my strong points. At all.) I yelled this to cody over and over again. So he told me to follow the sound of him hitting the boat. “BANG BANG BANG” the noise reverberated through my compartment. The boat is thirty-six tons of metal, all Cody’s banging did was echo through my head and body.

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