The sinking ship

The waves lapped against the wharf, and slapped back against the rotting hull of the listing vessel. Each eerie creek seemed to bring the ship closer to simply sinking beneath the surface of the bay. The sun melts below the horizon, what can still be seen of it, behind the pallid mist. All is monotone, except for the small swirls of oil clinging to the concrete footings. Playing in the eddies around them: discolored plastic liter bottles, pieces of Styrofoam, sodden cigarette butts, unidentified latex colonies mimicking dying jelly-fish. Yesterday’s headlines, now unreadable, expand and contract with the turning tide.

Tying off the vessel, a single, large coiled tether, taut, now slack. Taut. Slack. She sits in the water almost at an angle, as if weighed down by some cargo deep in its hold steeped to one side. Secreted in the depths, smelling of disuse and abandonment.

Up on deck, a single large grey rat, splotches of skin showing through its matted hair scrambles to the rope as it stretches taut once again. Slung low, it lurches forward as the rope droops below the height of the wharf. As if losing its will, the rat stops and swivels its head back to the ship, its dull red eyes furiously darting, seeking some sign.

Suddenly, the ship lists even further to one side. The rope snaps taut as the rat nearly loses its footing and leaps up to the wharfs safety. In one final groan, the ship settles on its side and begins to disappear beneath the scum of the harbor, sucking with it the detritus of its presence.