The thing wasn't like most bathroom inconveniences, which can usually be solved through a simple call to room service or second flush. In fact, I'm still not sure what it was. It was like going under sedatives during surgery, everything went black and cold, and then I slowly returned with no memory of going out. It was an odd experience, and while I'm not one for sci-fi, I think I was frozen.
The hardest part of being "unfrozen" assuming being frozen is what happened, is that I had no clue what time it was. The ship was beached less-than-gracefully against a rocky shore, and the sun beat down on the worn metal and paint of the deck. The glory that was my mixed drink pool was now a slightly sticky emptiness, void of fruity beverage. The strangest part were the bodies. That was how I knew that this wasn't a week ago or even a year ago that everything went under. They weren't gross or smelly or anything. They were neatly laid out skeletons, bleached a golden white by the intense equator sun. They'd have tote bags with Mickey Mouse and Hello Kitty on them, but barely recognizable after being tried by the elements. I even found a functional Disney themed light where Mickey's big stupid eyes light up and make a dark room bright enough to rummage through.
After days of effectively ravaging every non-perishable from my suite's quarters, I finally got down to the real exploring. I could never go deep or far from windows since power was needless to say something lost with the time, but with the help of my trusty Mickey-light I did find one interesting site-it was the only source of noise on the whole ship in fact. When I was quiet, I could hear the faintest creaking that resembled a human footstep here and there, and the clinging and clanging of something alive moving around. It wasn't an animal, and judging by how everyone else on board fared, it wasn't a person either. Or at least, that's what I thought.
Day after day, I'd revisit the site and tug or knock on the door. Sometimes we'd even have conversations, although whatever's down there isn't too talkitive. I didn't know what I was trying to accomplish. Maybe I just liked annoying my mystery room mate, since it was always a field I excelled in anyway. Maybe I just wanted to feel like I was progressing towards something. At any rate, I slowly grew slimmer and tanner as months went by, and the hatch always kept my attention.
One day, I heard the faintest tinkering against the other side of the door. It was almost as if whatever was down there finally wanted to get out. I could hear the shattering of caked on rust and sand from inside the door mechanism, and finally it gave way. I looked down into nothing but darkness, with the occasional glint of an old can staring back at me. My eyes darted around the abyss, attempting to meet my mysterious room mate, but as I shined the novelty light around all I could see was eaten food and old books. Finally, I saw him. It was a man, older than me but not by much. His skin was as pale as the less lively ex-passengers upstairs, and his eyes were hidden behind the cold reflection of his glasses. Suddenly, the hatch closed back, and a hard metal sound raked the bottom of the door as a large latch sealed him back into his bunker.
I tried to write down things I remember about him, but the list is short. So far, it just reads "Like a sickly, pale version of that guy who killed Chuck Norris in 'Eye of the Dragon', but less cool and with glasses. I never could remember that guy's name."
-Made in collaboration with Christopher Chow
After days of effectively ravaging every non-perishable from my suite's quarters, I finally got down to the real exploring. I could never go deep or far from windows since power was needless to say something lost with the time, but with the help of my trusty Mickey-light I did find one interesting site-it was the only source of noise on the whole ship in fact. When I was quiet, I could hear the faintest creaking that resembled a human footstep here and there, and the clinging and clanging of something alive moving around. It wasn't an animal, and judging by how everyone else on board fared, it wasn't a person either. Or at least, that's what I thought.
Day after day, I'd revisit the site and tug or knock on the door. Sometimes we'd even have conversations, although whatever's down there isn't too talkitive. I didn't know what I was trying to accomplish. Maybe I just liked annoying my mystery room mate, since it was always a field I excelled in anyway. Maybe I just wanted to feel like I was progressing towards something. At any rate, I slowly grew slimmer and tanner as months went by, and the hatch always kept my attention.
One day, I heard the faintest tinkering against the other side of the door. It was almost as if whatever was down there finally wanted to get out. I could hear the shattering of caked on rust and sand from inside the door mechanism, and finally it gave way. I looked down into nothing but darkness, with the occasional glint of an old can staring back at me. My eyes darted around the abyss, attempting to meet my mysterious room mate, but as I shined the novelty light around all I could see was eaten food and old books. Finally, I saw him. It was a man, older than me but not by much. His skin was as pale as the less lively ex-passengers upstairs, and his eyes were hidden behind the cold reflection of his glasses. Suddenly, the hatch closed back, and a hard metal sound raked the bottom of the door as a large latch sealed him back into his bunker.
I tried to write down things I remember about him, but the list is short. So far, it just reads "Like a sickly, pale version of that guy who killed Chuck Norris in 'Eye of the Dragon', but less cool and with glasses. I never could remember that guy's name."
-Made in collaboration with Christopher Chow
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