Running on Desire - The Boat

I just wanted to see how well I could write in first-person... Any feedback is appreciated, thanks!

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I sit on the cliffs of Dover, staring out to the large expanse of the water as the wind ripples through my hair. Trying to work out what happened to my father on such a calm evening, when the birds were gliding across the water, and the sunset must have invaded the sky an orange. I know sitting here is pointless; but I can't cope with life back at home, where mother shouts every evening, and my two siblings cry every night because like me, it is not sinking in that my father has gone. But when I get up and wrap my coat harder around me, I spot an anomaly amongst the ferries at the port. A small boat, bobbing gently, out on the water. And without hesitation my legs carry me to the wooden dock at the bottom to take a closer look. Yes, it's a boat!

My eyes dart around the edges for anything to take me to it - a boat, a small life jacket, even a board of wood - but there is nothing. I turn around to check if anyone has seen me, but they haven't, so I take my coat and shoes off and ease myself into the water, the cold immediately attacking my skin like darts. It is icy, and horrible, but I can't turn back now. I have to swim, swim to the boat, swim to see if it is my father. But my clothes are weighing me down, and my thin muscles are finding it hard to pull through the current, and eventually, after perhaps twenty minutes of desperation and exhaustion, panting and pain, my body gives up on me, and I submerge under the water.

As I sink deep, the water gets colder. Ropes of weed wrap around my fingers and legs, as if trying to trap me here. I should be swimming to the surface in panic, but my tired state is keeping me calm. And, somehow, as I begin to close my eyes, I find peace when light ripples into shapes. It forms animals of all kinds, horses, cats, dogs, birds, and scenes and people, my father, the picture of my family portrait on the wall, my mother's happy face. Nothing will mean anything after death though, will it?

Then, I see the shadow of the boat above me, and from somewhere I find the energy to emerge on the surface. And there is a figure sitting in the boat, a thick build, wearing a leather jacket, facing away from me. But the smile on my face disappears when I swim round the side, and take a look at the plain man without tattoos on his face. His bright blue eyes dare not look at me, but he must know I am here. I can't swim back now. I don't have the energy to swim back. Even my fingers are finding it hard to cling onto the side of the boat.

"Hello?" I manage to mutter, dragging myself onto the boat, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, I thought you were my father. Have you seen a boat similar to yours?"

I notice the man staring into me. I feel the fire inside his eyes, and the sorrow, although I am unsure what of. I see the ridges on his hands, and the cuts and bruises. The tear stains at closer look. I feel uncomfortable, but at least my heavy breaths and the sound of the water invades the silence. And then he speaks, his voice raspy and low, unfamiliar; "We are so lucky that the water has allowed us to float."

He picks up a paddle next to him and pushes us along in the water. But then, without warning, the boat tips upright and pushes us both into the water. And I am sure there are hands pulling me deeper when I try to swim to the surface, and I am trying so desperately to use all the energy I have to swim up. Up. Up. Then something large must have hit me because now I feel pain all along my front, and I am crying out for help but nobody can hear me. I am praying that someone did see me and they will rescue me in time. And I feel dizzy, the whole ocean is lighting up white, and I am forced to close my eyes. Then, I find breaths. Not breaths of water as I anticipated that must have filled my lungs, but air. And when I wake, I am lying in a hospital bed. Although, it is not metal coating the sides to keep me enclosed, but bamboo. And when I look up, the first thing I see of the man staring down to me are the black tattoos coating his face.

"Welcome to my world." my father says, before sleep invades once more.

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