What We Did to Survive

The boat creaks and groans around us as we descend the wooden steps into the cabin. My gaze goes straight to Keith’s empty bedroom. He woke up in that bed this morning with no idea it was his last day on Earth. Or that he’d die at the hand of a vindictive dumbass.

I brace myself as I stagger through the kitchen, ducking to avoid a hanging mesh bag full of oranges swinging wildly above the counter. A smaller bag of onions and potatoes hangs beside it, but the potatoes have grown eyes that stick through the webbing like miniature tree roots.

Ben throws himself into the farthest seat on the pseudo sofa, back pressed against the bathroom wall.

Emmy sits across the aisle from him, sliding into the bench seat that wraps around the table.