Everything happened slowly.

He woke up in darkness. For the first few milliseconds, all he could do was feel. The all-encompassing cold. The silence. The pale stream of light, almost like a spotlight, ahead of him. The sting of saltwater as his eyes opened. The rush of saltwater into his mouth as he gasped for air and found none.

Then it was scrambling. He kicked and clawed for the surface, his eyes fixed on the blurry image of the moon high above him. He had to get there-- he had to reach the surface.

He had to survive.

A body splashed into the water beside him, sinking deeper into the darkness, encased with little white bubbles of air.

He had to survive.

He had to. . .

.........

He broke through the surface of the water, taking massive swallows of air. Despite a salty taste lingering in his mouth, the sea air tasted so sweet.

Screams of others and the creaking of the ship in its final moments echoed across the water. The lights of lanterns searched for survivors in the water. He just had to get someone's attention.

He lifted a hand out of the water, and joined the chorus of cries.

........

The cold had begun to settle in. In some ways, the water was warmer. The sea breeze was like a constant smack against his skin. His teeth found the energy to chatter, and the sound was driving him mad. Slowly, the sea was quieting. The screams of others dropped out, one by one.

He continued to wave, but his voice, strained by the seawater and shouts, was gone. He would keep one hand in the air, using the other to tread water. But he could feel himself slipping. He wanted to fall back into the deep sea. He wanted to go back to sleep. Oh, how he wanted. . .

........

He could hear a ship's horn in the far distance. He named it the S.S. Hope.

He knew Hope would not come for him.

.........

Only bodies drifted around him. He knew a few of them. A young girl from first class who had run into him while chasing her brother. An older gentleman who had been a permanent fixture on the smoking deck. The cook who had come out of the kitchen so their table could thank him for an excellent meal.

There was nothing to cling to but bodies. And he was so tired.

He grabbed a hold of the cook and floated, the only life in a sea of death.

........

The foghorn grew louder. He lifted his head off the cook's rotund chest. It was close. He only needed to hold on for a little longer.

He raised his hand, and began to wave.

..........

The sun was rising. He began to cry. The tears froze to his cheeks.

A lifeboat was rowing towards him. In the distance he could see Hope, a beautiful ship with a massive hull.

He found a scratchy voice and began to shout. They were coming for him. He might live after all.

.........

He reached for his saviors, two young men in sailor's clothes. They lifted him out of the water, and engulfed him in blankets.

"Strip him out of those wet clothes," someone ordered, and the young men obeyed.

He closed his eyes. He just wanted to sleep. He wanted to forget the horrors of the night.

"We're almost there, boy."