Day 11
Here we are sitting on our capsized boat. It’s hard to believe that we have been at the mercy of the sea this long. We had no idea a sudden storm would have changed our lives forever. We ran out of food three days ago, and we only have two bottles of water left. During the long days, there is no relief from the blazing sun. At night we shiver from the cold. There is no light except for the vast celestial beacons that twinkle vaguely upon the endless water. Virtually no sound can we hear besides the gentle waves. Mark and I are both badly sunburned at this point. An innocent fishing trip turned into a life or death situation. We have seen no boats or planes in the past ten days. Without the radio, we have no way of letting anyone know where we are.
It’s easy to go mad with hopelessness in situations like these. I can only think of my family at this point. We openly pray for someone; anyone to come along and see us. We often speak of death, and how it would feel to simply give up. Letting your lungs fill with saltwater may be a faster alternative to dying from starvation and dehydration. Then the horrors of sharks quickly disparage those thoughts. Mark has an unwavering optimism that we will be saved. I on the other hand, ponder a slightly harsher reality. He had the brilliant idea of catching some fish for us, but with our fishing gear at the bottom of the sea, that plan is unlikely. I am trying to not excoriate Mark for his not-so-bright ideas, but it’s becoming increasing difficult. This could be my final entry unless help finds us soon.
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