Something in the air that day woke me up at dawn in a cold sweat. By the sound of slowly creaking walls and the light pressure against my ears, nothing about the day was unnatural. I turned my head and could make out the shadowed forms of my sleeping crewmen. Everything in me ached, the hay pallet beneath me damp from the humidity ever present in the air, and I could feel dirt, and soot, and salt packed into all of my pores. So nothing had changed.

            But I still didn’t make a sound as I padded around and in between everyone still snoring. Not that I cared about their quality of beauty sleep, but I knew if any of them saw me moving about unbeknownst to them, I wouldn’t reap any benefits. I climbed the short ladder that was starting to splinter, up into the corridor that broke off into the other cabins. It seemed no one was awake, something pretty rare. I almost smiled to myself as my step became lighter in the lacquered hallway. When I reached the end, instead of following another ladder that led up to the deck, which was already spilling with light, I pulled on the rusted door that led down to the hold. The smell of rot and decay filled my nose and seemed to press down my throat. But I held firm and climbed down into its depths.

            It was nearly pitch black, besides the thin lining of light issuing from the ceiling. This was where I read by candlelight when everyone else drank themselves stupid, and where I pretended like I wasn’t on a ship wandering around the world. This was where I told myself I’d leave one day.

            With my bare feet, I stepped slowly in the dark, following the path of more polished wood. The whole place moaned with the movements of the ship. It was the dirtiest, the smelliest, and by far the darkest place aboard, but also the best hiding spot. Tucked behind a small barrel, that annoyingly surprised my toe as I sharply ran into it, I knew I would find what I affectionately called my “to be buried treasure”. Small trinkets and gifts that I had been given met my hand as I reached blindly in the dark. But there, that’s what I was looking for, my matches. I lit the new candle I’d placed on the barrel two nights before and ran my dirt packed hands over my only possessions.

            An old watch with a couple’s anniversary etched into the golden back was cold to the touch. Two silver-edged, joker cards from an Italian man who we had found adrift sat in the line of light from the deck. A miniature telescope with the full cycle of the moon painted up and down the sides, now cracked and peeling from water damage, was heavy in my hand. A reindeer figurine that made me yearn for the opportunity to see snow fall on my skin stared up at me in the near blackness. And a canvas bound, handwritten collection of poems from many unknown authors called to me as it usually did.

            My head snapped back up towards the way I had come as a banging noise split the air. A screeching alarm immediately sounded and that’s when I knew: the airlock had been breached.