The night had not been easy. The next one would be no easier. Nor the one after, or the one after that, or the one after that, or even the one after that. In fact, it was only going to get progressively harder, until one day, they could no longer cope.

The sea was crashing against the edge of the boat, drenching the caption from head to toe. Yet this was the easiest of the nights. It was only going to get harder.

Small cracks were beginning to appear on the bottom of the boat, but each was efficiently covered by another plank of wood, which was quickly nailed into place by the crew members. It was a tough pace to keep up with, yet it was only going to get tougher.

Below deck, the passengers were beginning to get worried. How long would the crew be able to keep up with the repairs? How long until they were safe?

The sail was beginning to break. Smaller tears were turning into larger tears, which was turning into into entire sections being completely lost, like the hope of those on board.

The caption wiped his brow, feeling defeated. Even though he was trying his best to keep up moral, he knew the odds of survival were slim to none. Soon, they would be using the broken mast to row towards the island, as the boat most likely wasn't going to last much longer on the journey.

The island they were trying to reach was magnificent. Anything from any season could grow there, as the climate was just so perfect. The government there liked to encourage hard work, too - it was a legal requirement to have a job, but the only way to earn money was to hunt for it, which seemed fairer to those who, at home, had worked the hardest and earned the least. All in all, the place seemed perfect.

They would get there soon. That is, if they survived the journey. Just a week to go. Just one week.

They all knew what they had signed up for. The flyers had made it abundantly clear. They all had known the dangers which beheld them, yet each and every one of them had chosen to take that risk.

They all regretted it now. Why on earth had they decided to face these horrors, even if paradise did lie on the other side? But there was no turning back now. They could only push forward, lest they face certain death.

"Captain?" asked one worker, timidly.

"Yes?" replied the captain.

"Are we going to make it?"

The captain sighed. 

"I don't know, Kenny" he answered truthfully.  "I don't know."

"You're doing your best, Ben." comforted Kenny, putting his arm around him.

"Thanks, mate"

Another worker came up from below deck.

"Captain?" he asked, timidly.

Ben swung around, annoyance evident upon his face.

"What?" he snapped, impatiently.

"Are we going to make it?"

"Are you doubting me, John?"

"No, sir, I would never!"

"Then get downstairs and make yourself useful. I'm sure the rest of the crew are overworked enough without you gallivanting about!"

"Yes, sir" he meekly replied, before scurrying off downstairs as fast as his legs could carry him.

Ben turned back around, running a shaky hand down his face anxiously, and Kenny put his arm back around him.

"Look, Ben, if anyone's going to get us to this island, it's you. I know you'll do your best. And you've got the best team in the world to support you: you hand-picked them yourself!"

"Thanks, mate" Ben said, putting an arm around Kenny and looking off into the distance. "You're right. We've got this."