The Waiting Game

The lifeboat rocked gently on the endless expanse of ocean, the horizon stretching in every direction without a hint of land. Above, the sky deepened into the purple hues of twilight, and a single ship flickered in the distance, barely visible against the fading light.

Hours earlier, the sun had hung high, scorching their already parched skin. They had barely spoken then, too exhausted to do more than ration out their last drops of water and shift their weight on the hard wooden slats. The ocean stretched endlessly, a vast and indifferent mirror reflecting their despair.

Vincent had been the first to spot the ship. He had sat up so quickly that the boat rocked dangerously, jolting Daniel from his uneasy sleep.

"There! There! Do you see it?"

Daniel groaned, his mind thick with the remnants of a dream that felt too real. A dream of this exact moment. A dream where they fired their only flare—and it didn’t matter.

He wiped sweat from his brow, blinking toward the horizon. The ship was far, its silhouette barely discernible. He felt his chest tighten. "I saw this."

Vincent turned, frowning. "What?"

Daniel hesitated. "In my dream. We shot the flare. They didn’t see it. And then… we died."

Vincent let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his sun-bleached hair. "Well, that’s grim."

Daniel swallowed, trying to shake the feeling creeping up his spine. "What if it wasn’t just a dream? What if it’s a warning?"

Vincent’s eyes flicked down to the flare gun resting between them. Their only chance. Their only gamble.

"You’re saying we don’t fire it? We just sit here?" Vincent’s voice was tight. "What if your dream was wrong? What if this is the only chance we get?"

Daniel exhaled slowly. "What if it doesn’t matter? What if we’re meant to die out here, no matter what we do?"

Vincent shook his head, frustration flashing across his face. "That’s stupid. You’re telling me that no matter what choice we make, it leads to the same end?"

"Yes," Daniel said quietly. "That’s exactly what I’m saying."

Vincent scoffed, his voice rising. "You’re mad with dehydration. You’re not thinking clearly."

"For the first time in days, my thoughts are clearer than ever."

The boat swayed with the gentle motion of the waves. The flare gun sat between them, small but heavy, its presence pressing down on them like an unspoken accusation.

Vincent clenched his jaw. "We have to try. We have to. Otherwise… what’s the point?"

Daniel stared at him, his throat dry. He wanted to argue, to tell Vincent that there was no escaping it. That he had felt the truth of it in his bones. But he saw the desperation in Vincent’s eyes—the need to believe in something, anything, other than quiet resignation.

Vincent picked up the flare gun. His fingers curled around it. His breath came short and fast. The ship still lingered in the distance, its course uncertain.

Daniel’s voice broke the tense silence. "You’re wasting your time. It’s too far to see. If it were night, maybe, but with the light at our backs, they’ll never see the flare. It’s our only one. You’re just throwing it away."

Vincent’s grip tightened. "And if I don’t fire it?"

Daniel swallowed. "Then we still die. But at least… we accept it. We go on our own terms. No more false hope."

Vincent let out a hollow laugh. "That’s the most defeatist thing I’ve ever heard."

Daniel shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe it’s freeing. If we stop fighting, we stop suffering."

Vincent looked down at the flare gun for a long moment. The ship in the distance grew smaller. The window was closing.

He let out a slow breath. "I hate this."

"I know."

Vincent’s fingers loosened. The flare gun settled back onto the wood with a soft thunk.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. The night stretched on, the stars glinting coldly above like distant, indifferent spectators. The ocean whispered around them, carrying away the last traces of the ship’s fading silhouette.

Vincent shifted, the wooden slats creaking. "You ever think about how we got here?"

Daniel blinked, as if surfacing from deep thought. "Of course I do. Every second."

"I mean," Vincent continued, "not just the wreck, everything before. What led to this? Every decision we made? Think we were always meant to be out here?"

Daniel sighed. "I used to believe in control. Thought I had a say in my fate. But now, I don’t know. Feels like all the choices were illusions. Like it was all just leading to this."

Vincent smirked humorlessly. "That’s bleak."

"Is it? Maybe it’s freeing. If this is how it ends, at least I don’t have to wonder anymore. The guessing, the hoping—that’s the real torture."

Vincent frowned, staring at the last place he had seen the ship. "I don’t want to die, Dan."

Daniel nodded slowly. "Neither do I."

They sat in silence again, but this time it was heavier. The ocean stretched out around them, endless and consuming. A gust of wind rippled across the water, bringing with it a distant, haunting groan. Daniel shivered but didn’t acknowledge it. Vincent did the same.

"I used to dream about things I’d do when I got back home," Vincent muttered. "You know? Not big things. Just—normal stuff. Sitting in my chair watching a baseball game with an old-fashioned—the proper kind with a small batch of Woodford Reserve and the Luxardo cherries that cost $30 a jar. Feeling the warmth of the bourbon as it permeates my mouth with each sip...also, not being sunburned to hell."

Daniel chuckled dryly. "I miss coffee."

Vincent smiled. "Yeah. Coffee. A hot shower. A real bed."

Daniel exhaled, rubbing his temples. "And the insane part is how we made it here at all. Think about it. What were the odds? The ship sinking, the lifeboat coming loose at just the right moment. Us being on deck when it happened. If any of that had been different…"

"We’d be at the bottom of the ocean instead of on top of it," Vincent finished. "Some luck."

They let themselves drift into that dream, just for a moment. Pretending, if only for the length of a breath, that they weren’t alone on a disinterested sea, waiting for an end they had already accepted.

A gull cried in the distance. Neither man moved.

Hours passed. The ship never returned. The night dragged on, and eventually, dawn began to paint the sky in streaks of gold and pink. Their bodies ached from days spent curled in the boat, muscles stiff and dry throats aching.

Vincent broke the silence. "So, what happens now?"

Daniel’s lips cracked into the ghost of a smile. "We wait."

And so they did.