Shanghaied Hell

You could practically taste the ocean. It tasted bitter and salty, like you'd expect, but some sweet after taste. Like realization after a night of cascading insecurities and dribbling indecencies. The wind was low and it was cool. Dawn, at least I thought. No, I knew. It was dawn. I didn't know where I was, or who I even was, but it was dawn. 

Right now, in this foggy street, it was cool and grey and the sky was slightly periwinkle. It was nice and quiet and once you got past the sea smell, there were smoky pleasantries abound. Further out, the sky was starting to bruise: dark plum fading into sharp yellow. Beyond that, the yellow was illuminating into subtle mango then fiery tangerine and finally blood orange and red. A red sky at dawn. 

"Red Sky at night, sailor's delight. Red Sky at morning, sailor take warning." 

Why did I....why did I remember that? Was it telling? Particularly telling I guess. The sky was red, or approaching red. It was bleeding, if you will. 

Suddenly I felt like I was bleeding. A wretched pain over took my side and I looked anywhere but up for the first time since becoming conscious. 

Conscious? Why was I unconscious? Why was I in an unfamiliar place? There were so many things I was unsure of. Like this bruise overtaking my entire right side. It strolled over my liver and caressed my hip bone in a vice like grip. As if I had been ripped out of the sky. Saved, before the blood could wash it all away. 

I limped now, down another street that was still lit in nighttime bliss. The signs were brightly lit neon. Most were vivid red, but some orange, and then one lime green. They were printed with Asian characters, distinctly Chinese.

There it was again. How did I know they were Chinese? Could I read it? I tried, but either I couldn't or the bruise had left me shaken. Everything blurred together in a big circus of neon and sky and blood and swirls and oh god I think I'm going to throw up. 

I ditched in a building now, as the fog thickened around my ankles threatening to pull me down into a shallow pool of cold sweat and hot tears. As I crossed the threshold, I noticed I had bruises on my ankles. 

There was so much, I didn't remember. I sighed against the now closed door and looked around. 

The room was lit in a warm yellow light. It was vast and homey. Down the middle were a few aisle's of spices and herbs in hand woven baskets. On the walls were lanterns painted brightly. It seemed to be empty.

I carefully picked my way down an aisle, leaning too and fro to observe the cutely packed herbs. Some were familiar. Most were strange and surreal looking. Spiked something or others and vivid fruits. Slime and shiny delicacies. Something that looked like tar. I went now, to dig my hands in the solace of a basket full of red dust. 

Why did this comfort me? I didn't know; I only knew that it stung at my skin and filled my nostrils with fight and I felt alive for a moment. 
 

As I stuck my hands deeper, there arose a commotion from my left. Suddenly, the baskets began exploding and the powders flew through the air. The sound was like a canon and it was deafening. I screamed, at least I think, and ran straightaway through the rest of the baskets. All around me it started happening, the baskets would explode. Powders swirled through the air in some demonic tornado of raw emotion. The baskets nearest to me started to go and I dove on the ground. I covered my ears and said a silent prayer, something I didn't even know the words to but felt. 

As I screamed again, the chaos stopped. Everything seemed frozen for a moment and then... everything reversed. The powder returned to the baskets. So did the fruit. So did everything. I looked around and everything seemed in order. 

Did I imagine that? No. No, no, it was too real. I left though, visibly shaken, out the back door that was iron clad and black.

I was back on the foggy street. The red sky was starting to overtake the dusky purple now. From here I could see the ocean. I shivered. I couldn't go back there. 

I ditched into another shop now. This one had a lime green neon sign and a rich, black door. I trudged in, closing the door behind me, and was greeted with the delightful smell of various noodles. I looked to be in the back of the shop as there were pots and pans all around, each housing various noodles of various lengths. Some were plain, others had spices slicked on them and others were healthily coated in earthy sauces. 

As I moved through the kitchen, a sound like humming seemed to become more profound. Was I imagining it? No, it was definitely there. Someone was here, humming. Maybe they could tell me who I was? I could see a figure now, slowly swaying while mixing a pot. It looked to be a she, although I could only see a part of her. She was at a counter; there looked to be patrons beyond it. Maybe they would have some answers. 

I made my presence known now; I coughed politely as to get her attention. She didn't seem to notice, so I stepped into full view only to round back on my heels and almost throw up. She was a half-- only a half a half a person a half a girl. She was cut right down the middle, all excluding her skull which was still in tact just devoid of skin on one side, showing off a ghastly grin. She was not grotesque; everything seemed to be intact, just the startling fact that her eyes flicked wide and alive like a retro kitty clock was the thing that took my breath and ran with it. She stood on one leg, and held a metal bowl in her arm. She looked to be mixing slimy noodles, ebony in colors. She 'looked' up at me now, and the side of her face without skin, the exposed, skull jaw, retracted, and she smiled at me. 

I ran. I ran through a few doors and out on the street. I planned to run forever if I could. The street was full now. People were everywhere marching to and fro like soldiers. Colored papers hung above on strings as the people walked below devoid of any defining characteristic. I ran now, through chickens and sailors, and lost looking women. I ran toward the sea, by default. As I did, practically shoving people out of the way, a monkey screeched ahead. It seemed to come after me, to single me out. The people started to part like a sea as the monkey screeched and screeched. 

Finally, I broke out of the cluster of buildings and out onto a deserted harbor. I ran down the deck and stopped, hanging on by my toes as to not fall into the sea. The blood orange had faded and now there was black. A squall had started somewhere over the open ocean. It would soon be here. 

I couldn't decide what to do. I couldn't go back. I couldn't go forward. Who was I? Why was I here?! I cried out, falling to my knees and then going limped, falling like a dead log into the flustered ocean. I sunk lower and bobbed up. I gasped for air, and grabbed on to a piece of driftwood. I floated now, into the eye of the storm. What became of me, became of me. Whoever I was. 

The oaken man turned toward the younger one. He had on his crisp white service dress, the pleats were tight and his neckerchief was straight and perfect. The kid looked like a damn crackerjack. He, not so much. Maybe it was the neck tattoo. Maybe it was the wooden leg. Maybe it was his disdain for society. One thing for sure, they were just too different. Or maybe not. He observed the kids bright eyes as he jumped and pointed towards the sea. A drifter. 

They spoke different languages, but they communicated through gestures. He would be the one to reel her in. 

She floated listlessly into a few feet of water. He moved his wooden leg and stepped into the freezing water and dragged her up by her hair. Islander. 

He commended her, for surviving. 

Maybe she would be one of the few who would finally last.