Any Day Now
#2 of Little Nothings
Another writing exercise for my class, nothing much.
"No..." Breathed Blondie as he knelt by his companion's side, looking down at the man who was all too still. "No, no no, don't do this!" Blistered hands reached out to slap weakly at dying man's face, framed by that raven hair that had grown tangled and ragged, weathered from exposure. Blondie's pale blue eyes, flicked away to the helicopter on the horizon, made golden in the overpowering sunlight that glinted off its steel and plastic body.
"Come on, they're right there! Just hang on, you dumb bastard!" Blondie wheezed through chapped lips, limply battering Blackie's chest with the heels of his fists. "Come on!" Even that was too much effort to keep up for long, as exhaustion soon ceased his struggle. Collapsing upon his companion, whom still refused to call a friend, even now, those pale eyes of his stung, from the salt-heavy air and from tears that his body could not produce. "You son of a bitch..."
He couldn't tell how long it had been since he heard the beating, whirring noise of the helicopter near and settle above the, whipping the wind into a frenzy and casting spray up into the air, still hot from that merciless sun. He felt arms around him, a harness being attached to him, and then a feeling of weightlessness as he was lifted into the air. He remembered opening his eyes a final time, turning his head slightly to look down, and saw that accursed boat, empty, floating away against the blue, then the blue turned to black and all was quiet.
***
What happened? It was a question Blondie was asked again and again, ever since he woke up to the stink of clean and the blinding white of hospital room, almost as bright as the sun he had come to loathe. They asked him about the ship, what he could remember, what happened to Blackie. He couldn't tell the much more than they already knew; in fact, they probably knew more than he. "I was asleep, I heard shouting, they pushed us into the boats. It was me, two crewmen, and Blackie."
"Blackie?" They asked.
"He never told me his real name. He called me Blondie..." he raised his hand and plucked at a tress of sandy hair, still tangled and weathered. "... So, I called him Blackie."
"What happened to the crewmen?"
"One died real quick, some kind of sickness, all vomit and shit. The other went overboard while we slept... I think he did it to himself, seemed real... quiet the day before. Like he was done with it all." Shrugging, Blondie looked away, down at the tiled floor. Of course, it would be blue. "That's what I think, anyways."
It was all the same for the rest of the day. More people, more questions, usually the same damn ones. One even had the gall to call him lucky. "Three weeks at sea... only emergency rations... the only one of four to survive? You've got someone looking out for you."
Blondie merely shrugged again, and waited for him to leave. Sleep came easily, and when he dreamt, he dreamt his bed was the boat, and Blackie was there, spouting constant as he did in that lazy voice of his.
"Just you wait. They're sending people after us, they always do. They'll be here any day now... Any day now..."