The Voyage Part 1: The Sea

He was surrounded by the sea. For miles and miles in each direction, the waved came endlessly toward him. The small boat he sat in drifted aimlessly among them, all movement imperceptible. He had fifteen feet of wooden planks to himself against the countless miles of blue sea water.  Every day he stared out at the same blue expanse around him, every night he was met with the same infinite darkness filled with countless unmoving stars.
Out here, he had no perception of time. Had it been days? Months? Years? He had not recollection of arriving in the boat, no memory of anything before. He could not count the days that blended into an indistinguishable blur. In reality, he knew nothing. Not his name, not where he was, and, most importantly, why he was there. There seemed to be no reason, no cause. He simply was. A single fleck in the middle of an infinite ocean, a moment in an infinite expanse of time, existing for no other purpose then to be.
As he always did during the day, he cast his net into the sea. For the tenth time, or the hundredth, or the thousand, he cast the net and came up empty. He checked his rods, and found each one empty, as they always were. There were fish out there. He could see the signs. Bubbled reaching the surface from fish he could not see, fast moving and indefinable shadows, violent splashes always when his back was turned. They were certainly there, it just seemed none of them were interested in his bait. The odds seemed impossible, but in an ocean filled with fish he always missed his catch. Not that it mattered anyway. He guessed he had been out long enough to starved to death, though death never seemed to come. The hunger always remained inside his gut, an unchanging emptiness which could not be filled but did not seem to do him harm. It wasn’t really a feeling of pain or of impending death, but a knowledge that it could be better, he could be satisfied if he knew how to catch the fish. Again the net came back empty. Why he kept throwing it he did not know, but he could not imagine doing otherwise.
He kept throwing the net and checking the rods as the day droned on. He knew in his mind it would come up empty, but each time he hoped it would be otherwise. Even if it failed a hundred thousand times, it could succeed on the next. The odds may be imperceptibly small, but it would happen eventually. The light was slowly fading as he cast the net uselessly into the sea. He noticed a line of clouds on the horizon, approaching quickly. There would be a storm tonight.
He had been through these storms before, each one nearly identical to the last. He quickly latched his rods down and tied up the netting. He through the a cloth over the boat to act as a shelter. If he did everything perfectly, he would be fine. Where he learned to survive the storms, he did not know, but he had not yet been killed, so whatever he did must be the right way.
The clouds were almost over him. The last thing he did before crawling into the shelter, as always, was take out the four large jugs that were kept in the back of his boat. He tied them in place. Maybe this time, they would be filled with fresh water.
Suddenly the clouds were overhead. He scrambled into his makeshift shelter as the wind picked up, driving his boat back and forth. The waves grew quickly, and soon his boat was being flung from side to side at the mercy of the ocean. He had no control at all, no way to calm the ocean as it hurled him back and forth. It seemed completely random, the waves coming in all directions and crashing violently into the sides of his boat. He felt it climb to the crest of a massive wave, then plummet down the other side. Rain poured down heavily, hitting his shelter with a constant drum and filling the boat to his ankles as he tried desperately to bail it out. Countless times he was certain the boat would flip, that the waves were too big, the wind to strong, and rain to hard. However, it never happened, and he was stuck admits the chaos and insanity of an uncontrollable sea.
He could feel his exhaustion growing as he struggled to keep the boat from getting swamped. He knew that soon he would pass out. Without food, he simply did not have the energy to keep working and bailing. The storm did not care about this, and continued despite his desperation. He felt the exhaustion grow inside him. He was quickly out of breath, and his vision blurred. He did not remember falling asleep.
The man awoke the next day to see the sun shining, unaffected and unaware of insanity of the night before. He jumped up and scrambled to the water jugs. He stared in disbelief. How could this happen? Millions of rain drops had fallen, and not a single one landed in the water jugs. By incredible, but not impossible odds, the jugs were completely dry. He clearly remembered bailing water out of the boat, but there wasn’t a single drop left. He didn’t know why he was surprised, it always happened this way. Not that it mattered he supposed. He had been thirsty as long as he could remember, but had yet to be effected by it. Like the food, his thirst was just a constant annoyance, a knowledge that things could be better.
The days droned on endlessly, each one identical to the next. He survived a thousand identical storms, each one in the same way. The same questions constantly bothered him. Where was he? How was this possible? How did any of this make sense? Most of all, he wanted to know why it was happening to him.
Then, without warning, it changed. There seemed to be no logic to it, no order. Except that, even though the odds seem to be next to nothing, in infinite trials the smallest chances become almost inevitable.
He awoke with a start. Something was different. He looked around, and realized what it was. He had left the water jugs out the night before, though there was no chance of rain. He rebuked himself for carelessness and reach for the first jug. He stopped. It was full. He checked the next one, then the third and the forth. They were each filled with fresh, clean water. Had it rained the night before? He couldn’t remember a single drop, and the rest of the boat was dry.
He drank greedily. The water filled him with its purity, and soothed his scorched throat. It was delicious. He stopped after a moment, happier than he had been for as long as he could remember. He rested gleefully at the bottom of the boat, basking in the radiant glow of the sun. Soon though, the thirst returned. He ignored it, hoping to conserve his one gift of water. However, this time the thirst got worse and worse. The heat of the day, though it seemed beautiful before, made him crave water. Now that he had experienced what it was like to drink, the thirst pained him more than ever before. He realized that, this time, if he did not receive water, he would die. It may take days, but it would happen.
He reached for the jugs again, and drank. Once again, he was temporarily happy. However, the end of the thirst in his throat made him even more aware of the hunger in his stomach. He looked around despairing, wishing he could be filled. He had forgotten to through the net overboard.
Just as he reached for the net, he heard a crash behind him. He turned around. To his shock, a fish lay at the bottom of his boat. It had jumped out of the water, hit the wall, and died on impact. He was stunned. What were the odds of this happening? It seemed impossible. However, he didn’t question the blessing, and reached for the fish. He had a small stove stored at the back of the boat. For the first time for as long as he could remember, he would eat.
He stopped. What would happen then? The hunger would surly return, and he would have nothing to fill it. Would it be like the water? Would he crave more and move, until he died of starvation if he did not get more? What were the odds of another fish simply jumping into his boat?
Just as the question went through his head, he heard another thud behind him. He turned and stared in disbelief at a second fish lying in the bottom of his boat. He heard the sound again, and found a third fish. Soon they were everywhere, large fish simply jumping into the boat and dying, as if eager to be eaten by him. What the hell was going on?
He cooked and ate happily, feeling satisfied for the first time in as long as he could remember. When the hunger returned, he ate more, confident in the belief that more fish would find their way into his boat.
After he was completely full and could not eat more, he lay down and rested. Soon he noticed something else was changing. An odd feeling, a sort of sliding. With a start, he realized the boat was moving. He sat up quickly and looked over the side. He was certain he was moving, and quickly. But why? Something was odd…
Suddenly he realized why he was moving. It was obvious, really, and clearly visible. The answer was just so odd, so insane and unbelievable he didn’t think of it. But looking at the horizon and the sea, it was clear.
The ocean, the entire sea, was tilted.