S.S. Gale Clipper

by xTSGx

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Death, Sad, Romance, Original Character
Length: 6443

Equestrian Coast Guard, Vanhoover Station, to all vessels. The S.S. Gale Clipper, a 630 foot freighter, has gone missing in rough seas ten nautical miles north of Cape Hornwell. All nearby vessels proceed to the area to assist the search and rescue.

“We’re coming up behind you, Clipper. Seven clicks. White Peak reports the Cape Hornwell radio beacon’s broke. We’re radar only.”

“Celestia, what a time for them to be napping. You’ll have to guide us in, Baron. Our radar went down after that last wave. List is at ten degrees and hatch three is off its hinges.”

“We got you, Clipper. Just hold tight.”

“We’re trying. Gale Clipper out.”

Published 2023-01-03 00:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2023-01-03 00:10:01 UTC

The Lone Chapter

I-I-I’m cold. S-So cold. I’ve never been this cold before. I’m shivering nonstop. My hooves sting and ache all the way through. I’ve nearly given up on getting the ice out of my tail. Amber said I should do something to distract myself from the cold, so here I am alone with my thoughts, trying to ignore the growing numbness.

I can still see the stern of the Old Gale. That’s what we call her. She is a great ship. Best one I’ve ever served on. She isn’t the biggest in the shipping lines or the fastest, but that didn’t matter. She kept all of us warm and safe and she kept all of our families fed. That’s as much as you can ever ask of any ship.

But I should start from the beginning. It will at least keep me occupied while we wait for rescue. This trip was as routine as any other. We were in Vanhoover two days ago. The Old Gale is a bulk carrier. It is—it was—the third ship in its class, but I never cared to learn the name. Six hundred-thirty feet long, sixty-five feet wide. Easily fits in the Point Isthmus Locks that connect the North and South Luna Seas.

We loaded up eighteen thousand tons of iron ore pellets. Vanhoover’s a powerhouse in the market. Mines dot the icy hills and mountains. Water Lily was on deck, as she always is. She’s the deck boss. In charge of carefully distributing the load of ore as it slides off the port’s conveyor belt into the hold, to not muck up the buoyancy. She’s a great mare. Can be an ass at times, but it comes with the job. She’s got to deal with the shoremares constantly, so it’s not surprising.

I watched from my standard spot on the starboard railing. I’m supposed to be spotting to make sure the ore pellets actually land in the hold and don’t wind up strewn on the deck. That happened once. Took hours of shoveling and sweeping. First Mate Anchor vowed to never let it happen again. I’m supposed to be doing that, but in reality, I’m smiling.

As is typical, Lily ended up in a shouting match with Potluck, her brother. What it was over, I don’t remember, but it’s almost always something trivial. They could really go at it at times. You could hear ‘em two decks up. Made you think they hated each other’s guts. But I know different. I saw them that day six moons ago, tucked away in private, quietly bonding, crying, and hugging each other when the telegraph came in that their mother had died. They truly loved each other, like all siblings should. They just had a dysfunctional way of showing it.

Their argument was interrupted by Fireside, another of the deckhooves, like me. Him and Grain Store were readying Hatch Three but there was some kind of problem. I’m not sure what it was, but if I had to guess, the hinges were probably getting rusty. We don’t oil them nearly as often as we should. Not for lack of trying, mind you, but well, there’s a reason we call her the Old Gale. Other maintenance takes priority.

Fireside rolled his eyes, which only caused Lily to get snippier. The snarky pegasus really needed to know when to keep his lid shut, because Lily wouldn’t just direct her wrath at him. No doubt, I’d be dragged into it too. After another few seconds of back and forth, Fireside flew away toward the stern engine room. Looked like he was getting engineering involved.

“Having fun?” I jumped but my heart didn’t race from the scare. I looked over at Amber Morning. I could go on and on about her until the North Luna Sea evaporated. About how beautiful she was. How smart and confident she was. How strong her earth pony muscles were. About her vibrant red mane and tail. About the few stray faint freckles on her cheeks that ramped up the cuteness a thousand fold.

I could, but then I’d start thinking about her laying here next to me, shivering from the ice and snow that’s piling on the life raft. I’d think about what might happen to her again if another wave tips the raft. Then I’d think about the cold that’s slowly draining our life away every second as we desperately scour the rocking and swaying horizon for a ship to save us. It would defeat the whole point of this, so I won’t.

“Of course. Have to find some kind of entertainment around here while we load,” I responded. I wanted to tell her. Wanted to pour my heart out to her, but I always hesitated. I’ll do it tomorrow. I always told myself, but it was never tomorrow, only today.

“You know, you could just go below deck instead of watching the circus,” she said, with that smile only she could ever make.

I snorted in disbelief at such a bold idea, “And get chewed out by both Lily and Anchor? No way.”

She shrugged and slowly turned around, making sure to flick her tail once she finished the turn and started walking toward the pilothouse, “Suit yourself. It’ll be another four hours until they’re done. And knowing Lily, she’ll still chew you out matter what.”

I was paying so much attention to her hindlegs as they sauntered away I didn’t even notice the short brown earth pony stallion running up the length of the ship from the stern engine room, “Oh, p-pardon me!” He yelled out, a few papers in his stuffed saddlebag jostling.

“Woah!” I quickly ducked back, leaning against the small chains that made up the starboard railing. They groaned in a responding protest. Down below, the water lapped casually against the side of the ship. No real threat with the ship stationary. Still, would not have been pleasant given it was thirty-five degrees.

I crinkled my muzzle in irritation, “Hey, Bean Counter. Watch where you’re going!”

He looked over his shoulder, “Oh, so sorry. I’m just in such a rush. I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Yeah, yeah. No biggie.” He nodded and was off again into the pilothouse, probably to see the Captain. It was hard to stay mad at him even if he was a corporate stooge with Great Western Steamship, the Old Gale’s owner and operator. He had the unfortunate luck of tagging along with us to the company’s offices in Las Pegasus before we made the final delivery of the ore pellets to the smelters down in Hoofington.

He was not a seapony, that was for sure. He’d already thrown up three times since boarding. And we were still docked in the luxury of the Port of Vanhoover. It was a testament to how incompetent Great Western was. They thought they were saving money by hoisting him on us, but the cost of the stop in Las Pegasus far outweighed what it would have cost to simply buy the poor stallion a train ticket down.

The rest of the loading was uneventful. I think I saw Chief Engineer Coalfire slumped sleeping in one of the uncomfortable wood chairs on the top deck of the stern engine room at one point. I didn’t know the fat gray earth pony very well. The engine room and its four deck “tower” was hundreds of feet from the eight deck high pilothouse, separated by the gulf that was the cargo hold. We deckhooves barely interacted with the engineering crew. They might as well have been on a different ship.

The Old Gale set off ahead of schedule at around five PM. Lily had pushed those shoremares hard to get the ore on. We were trying to make up for the time we’d lose dropping off Bean Counter in Las Pegasus. By seven, we’d finished running down the checklist. The bilge pumps were working. The hatches secured. The crane locked down. We were ready.

First Mate Anchor filled us in on why. The Weather Bureau had declared a Winter Storm Warning for the entire North Luna Sea coast. Unmanaged humidity from the zebras’ domain was leaking north, like it always did this time of year, and was kicking up the hornet’s nest. It would be a whopper of a storm. Eighty knot winds and thirty-foot seas were predicted. Not to mention the ice and snow.

We like to think the weather is perfectly controlled and managed, but that’s only true for Equestria’s land. Canterlot and Cloudsdale couldn’t care less what happens to the clouds twenty miles out to sea. It’s too expensive and too burdensome to manage so much, they say. But the iron still needs to flow and the bread still needs to be baked. Maybe one day the Weather Bureau will realize that, but that day wasn’t today. Maybe it’d be tomorrow.

So we prepared for the coming storm. To hug the safety of the coast out to the canal that connected the north and south seas would take far, far too long. Time is money, as Bean Counter might say. So we had to barrel ahead. It wasn’t the first storm we’d sailed through. We were all veterans of the North Luna Sea and the punches it could send our way.

At seven-thirty, I showered the sweat and oil off. There was the once-a-trip dinner with Captain Heartstroke to attend and while we didn’t have dress uniforms like the navy, you still wanted to be presentable. It was a tradition at this point that everyone who could, would attend the dinner. The engineers and skeleton bridge crew rotated out each voyage so they all had a fair shake of the event.

Heartstroke had set it up when he first became captain seven years ago as a way of “tightening the ropes of the crew” as he put it. It was a chance for everyone to mingle. It was also one of the few chances I had to see and interact with him. He wasn’t what I’d call a “hooves-on” captain. Not a bad one, by any stretch, but one who liked to keep that professional distance from his crew you sometimes hear about.

I sat down in the mess. All the tables had been squished together to form a makeshift banquet table we could all sit around. I looked out the porthole windows along one of the walls. It had started raining. The plan was to steam as fast as possible through the edge of the storm, before it intensified and engulfed the whole shipping route.

“This seat taken?” Oh, Celestia. It was Amber. She sat down in the wooden chair next to me before I could answer.

“Hey, Amber. How was bilge duty?” I was careful to ask just the right question to get the perfect response.

Her muzzle immediately scrunched down just the way I’d hoped it would and she squeezed her eyes shut. Even with such a silly look on her face, beauty couldn’t be tarnished. I’d even argue that face was one of the cutest she made, at the top of a very long list.

I stifled a laugh, “That bad, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” she leaned against the table, causing it to rock, “So, you gonna brave Stew’s salad this time?”

“After what happened to Fireside? No way. Dude’s gotta learn how to make ranch dressing.”

She laughed at my comment. It always warmed me when I could make her laugh like that, “No argument here.”

I looked into those intense yellow eyes of hers. Now was a chance. A chance to finally admit to her how I felt. But like the hundreds of other chances I’ve had, the words caught in my throat and my tongue refused to pry them free, “Maybe his bread will be better this time.” I said instead.

After dinner, I settled into bed for the night. While the ship had electricity, I was still old fashioned and didn’t use the bulb in my quarters, opting instead for the kerosene hurricane lamp my parents had gifted me the day I got my cutie mark. It hung above my bed and was already starting to sway when I lit it for the late night. The storm was already getting bad. I glanced up to make sure the air vent was open. Didn’t want to get smothered by the kerosene fumes. Perhaps there was something to this electric lighting.

I didn’t get too comfortable in the cot. I still had to get up and turn the lantern off. But I still relaxed as the Old Gale rocked harder and harder. I grabbed the notepad and pencil that sat on the nightstand next to the cot and opened it to the most recent page. I call it my Confessional. Every day for the last year or so I’ve written in it before going to bed. My dreams, my wishes, my anger. It was a journal of sorts.

But it’s mostly been about Amber. What I want to say to her. What I want to do with her. Poetry about her. I even started drawing her cutie mark. And every day, including this one, when I finish pouring my soul out into the pages, I close the book and put it on the table, glancing at it nervously and wondering if I should hide it somewhere. Celestia, I don’t know what I’d do if she found it.

Then I turn the lantern off and settle under the sheets, telling myself tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll tell her. Tomorrow would be the day I’d tell her everything. Tomorrow I could finally throw the notebook out over the railing and into the sea. But it’s never tomorrow, only today.

I finally slept last night, after so many waves threatened to toss us into the icy water. An alicorn visited me in the dream I had. I was floating, not in the sea but in a fog and stars. Rocking back and forth in the seemingly endless void. I don’t know which alicorn came to me. We’re so far from Canterlot and I never kept track of them to begin with. She was beautiful—tall, elegant, and regal—just like they’re always described, but not as beautiful as Amber. Never. I hope the alicorn visited her too and gave her the same warning.

I’m so thirsty, but she said not to eat the ice, no matter how tempting it is, “It’ll freeze you from the inside. And you need all the warmth you can get for the trial to come.” She said in a soothing, comforting voice.

“S-Save us! We’re lost at sea,” my voice cracked in desperation.

She looked at me, her large blue eyes reflecting pity and a deep sadness that seemed to stretch on for eternity, “I cannot. The dream realm is immaterial. Disconnected from reality. There is no way to locate you in the tumultuous waters. I can only comfort, as I always have.”

She bent her head down and nuzzled me like a mother does their frightened foal, “Stay strong, my little pony. No matter what happens, never let your heart harden in despair, even in the darkest hour to come. There is always hope. And as long as there is hope, there is life.”

I awoke to a thin layer of snow covering my coat. The pain has left my hooves. At first, I thought it was the alicorn’s magic, but now I realize it’s frostbite. The nerves are dying and can no longer send the pain warning telling me so. If I survive, I’ll probably never walk again. I just hope Amber’s doing better. She’s still hanging on, but is asleep. I checked on her right when my eyes opened and she groggily stirred, so at least there’s that comfort.

I-I need to keep distracted from the cold. Where was I? I had gone to bed. That night was difficult. My room lacked a porthole, but I could still hear the waves and wind from my quarters. The Gale was being battered by the storm something fierce. But the swaying and rocking of the ship as it crested one wave and sank into the trough of the next was strangely relaxing. Perhaps only those of us with a sailor’s special talent have the gift to sleep in such weather but I was out within just a few minutes, having made sure to snuff out the lantern first just in case it toppled from its hook over my cot.

I awoke at some point to a loud, tearing crash. I immediately looked up, expecting the lantern to be gone, but it was still there. I sat up, blearily. It could have been any number of things sliding or breaking. Such occurrences were practically routine in this kind of weather. The sleepiness was winning and just as I started settling back into the warmth of my cot, I felt it.

A shudder. A deep shudder from the core of the ship. My drowsiness started to ebb. That wasn’t common. It wasn’t something you wanted to feel. As I emerged more fully into wakefulness more noises became apparent, causing my ears to flick. Groans and creaks. But the worst were the rivets. I could hear them popping, like I was listening to popcorn being made. First one, then a dozen, then thirty. All in a row like dominoes falling. Whole plates of inch thick steel were being torn away from somewhere in the ship.

Then the buzz of the general alarm. I stumbled out of bed, naked. There was no time to put on the boots or the raincoat. I needed to get up to the pilothouse. Captain Heartstroke would be coordinating our response. He’d have a plan. He always did.

By the time I opened the door to my cabin, there was a huge crash and a sudden jerk that threw me against the hallway wall. When I shakily got back to my hooves, the alarm had gone dead. The light bulbs in the hallway were out, too.

I made it up on deck, but hesitated at the door. I could see the wind and rain through the small window in the door. I hadn’t been able to get my weather gear and it would be freezing. But I knew I had to go out there. The alternative could be far worse than some cold wind.

I walked out. Celestia, it was cold. The Old Gale was rocking and rolling more than I’d ever seen before. I had to lean, hard, to maintain balance each time she rode a wave up and down. Those waves. I’ll never forget them. They were monstrous. Taller than any building in Vanhoover. The white caps foamed and bubbled as if in a frothing anger, as though they were mad the tiny ponies in their machines of metal would dare try to sail on them and defile nature’s fury with their arrogance.

I saw Amber’s red mane whipping in the sleet over by Hatch One. She was with a group. Then I saw Hatch Three—I mean, I didn’t see Hatch Three. The ten-ton lid was gone. Sheared off from its hinges. Probably at the bottom of the sea by then. That must have been the noise that woke me up. Every time a smaller wave hit the side of the Gale, thousands of gallons would pour into the open cargo hold. Coldness caused me to shake, then. But it wasn’t from the wind and snow.

The Gale Clipper was dying. Right in the middle of those ten story monsters that were waiting to swallow us all alive. She was dying. With each wave that made it over the railing, I watched her life ebb a little more. We had to do something. I ran over to the group that had gathered around Amber. Always a leader, she was.

I looked around. There was only me, Amber, Lily, Pot, Bean Counter, and Fireside. I turned to Amber, “Where’s everypony else?”

She pointed up at the pilothouse next to us, “Heartstroke and the bridge crew are still up there. They’re trying to get a distress call out. The Coal Baron was tailing us. They’re about three miles back and should be able to he—”

I was suddenly sprawled on the deck. We’d been broadsided by one of the monstrous waves, “Lily!” Pot screamed in agony. I turned my head just in time to see her pink tail disappear through the starboard railing, the chains snapping like thread. Fireside’s wings popped open and he was in the air a second later to rescue her.

“Fireside, stop!” Amber screamed out. She stood to grab his red and orange tail but was too late. The second he’d cleared the safety of the Gale and flew down toward the water, a burst of wind caused him to tumble. I just heard the cracking thud of him hitting the hull over the howl of the storm. I never saw either him or Lily again.

Amber froze for a moment before collecting herself. Two shipmates were dead in a heartbeat, “W-We have to get to the life raft now. Come on.”

The rest of us shakily followed her to the starboard side. Rattling in its carriage was the life raft, its orange and black paint long worn away by rust and the harsh sea air. If you could call it a life raft. Six barrels were welded together to form a makeshift pontoon. There was a pontoon on each side with a thin metal sheet bolted to them forming the “deck.”

As we worked the rope and latches, there were more horrifying groans and popping rivets. I tried to ignore it. Tried to tell myself those were noises the Old Gale made in every storm. But they weren’t. They were much worse. Deep, visceral groans your hooves could feel through the deck. The Gale Clipper was giving us a final warning. She was in her death rattle. Finally, one terrifying crunch, almost like the sound of an explosion, made us all look over to see the horror.

The stern engine room seemingly lifted out of the water like a unicorn had grabbed it with telekinesis. But it wasn’t. It was just a huge wave. The Old Gale had been ripped in half by the storm, right along Hatch Three. The stern was floating on its own.

I turned back to Amber to see the yellow of her eyes practically gone. They were small as pin pricks. There was another terrible crash as the Gale spilled the thousands of tons of iron pellets in her torn open belly into the waiting grasp of the sea.

The bow and pilothouse immediately started sinking, “Oh my!” Bean Counter, never the most athletic stallion, lost his footing on the icy deck and started tumbling toward the water as the bow started tilting. He grabbed onto a vent cover that poked out of the deck, “H-Help!” He looked at us, in complete bewilderment at what was happening. He was just a company stallion on his way to look over the books, not a seasoned veteran of the sea.

“Hang on!” Amber cried. She started slowly clambering down the slick deck toward the terrified Bean. She grabbed hold of him and the two slowly, shakily, made the ascent back toward the life raft.

I was going to help, but Pot caught my peripheral. He was in shock, still staring, mouth agape, at the section of railing his sister had gone over, even as he slowly started sliding down the deck toward an icy death. He made no effort to move or save himself. It was like he was in a magic trance cast by a warlock.

“Pot!” I screamed, hoping to break through to him, but it was no good. I started slowly creeping toward him even as his skid sped up, but then I looked up and the bottom fell from my stomach.

When I said I could still see the stern earlier, I meant it. I didn’t mean it was sinking. With the ship cut in half, the stern kept moving forward, thrust along by the still active propellers.

“Watch out!” someone cried. It might have been Bean, I can’t remember.

“Oh Celestia, it’s going to run us over!” someone else cried. It may have even been me.

The still fully illuminated hind quarter of the ship careened toward us. The ripped open hold looked like the open maw of some sea monster, readying to swallow us whole into the remaining ore pellets that lined it, before diving back into the depths of the sea.

“Hold onto something. Quick!” Amber cried out. Her and Bean leaped up and grabbed onto the life raft. I found a chain anchorage point on the deck and clung for dear life. Pot did nothing but continue the slide toward his death.

We were all going to die right there, either being crushed to death by the stern grinding over us or knocked into the water from the impact. Then something happened. I don’t know if a weather team managed a saving gust of wind or Chief Engineer Coalfire had gotten manual control of the rudder, but whoever I can thank. Thank you. You saved us.

The stern veered away at the last second and only barely clipped the port side of the bow. It still caused a shuddering, jolting crash. We were all thrown into the air, but Amber’s quick warning saved me, her, and Bean. I looked for Pot after we settled back down, but there was no trace of him. I can only guess the impact had knocked him into the water where he could finally join Lily.

We finished untying the life raft and pushed it free of its carriage. We jumped on as it slid down the deck and into the water. By then, the bow was nearly at fifty degrees and was starting its final descent. I wish I could have watched for any of the bridge crew escaping but we had far more dire things to worry about.

The storm was just as severe as it had been for hours. Thirty-foot waves rocked the small life boat. I was knocked off after only a few seconds on it and plunged into the freezing water. I tried to fight off the instinctive gasp from the shocking cold, but it got me anyway and a few choking sputters of water leaked into my lungs, causing them to burn.

An orange hoof grabbed my flailing leg and pulled me back onto the metal plate. I gasped several times, the shivering starting immediately. I looked to Amber, “Th-Thanks.”

She only nodded in response. A few seconds later and I was returning the favor when another wave rocked the life raft and threw her off like a catapult into the water.

“Amber!” I looked. There were just endless waves, their white caps making it impossible to see any fine detail in the slosh.

“Amber, please!” I looked on. I don’t know how long I frantically scanned the water. It doesn’t really matter. It felt long enough for an alicorn to die of old age.

Finally, I saw a bit of red bob in the water twenty feet or so from the raft. I dove in without a second thought, Bean Counter crying out some protest from his spot I didn’t hear as I did.

My legs burned as I swam but I paid them no mind. I reached Amber and dragged her back to the raft. Bean helped us both back up. Amber was still and silent on the raft for a moment far too long before her eyes opened and she started hacking, dribbles of water bursting from her mouth.

She looked up at me with tired eyes, “Thanks.” She rasped out.

I only nodded, holding back the tears.

She shakily sat up, before all three of us went tumbling toward one side of the raft and to our deaths. I grabbed onto one of the securing ropes that was still tied to the raft. Amber grabbed onto me and Bean grabbed onto her. The next wave rocked us back to the middle of the raft.

The wind. Celestia, the wind. You think you know how cold a winter gust can be, but you can’t. Not unless you were on that raft. There was a constant spray from the waves that whipped into the air and into our faces, our manes, our lungs—everywhere. There wasn’t a part of us that wasn’t soaking wet with thirty-five degree water.

All three of us were shivering. The sound of teeth clattering was almost louder than the roar of the water that tossed us about. I tied the rope around one leg from each of us to ensure none of us would go into the water. Then, we all huddled in the center of the raft, trying to keep warm.

Amber looked me in the eyes, “Y-You sh-should t-try to th-think about s-something oth-ther than t-the cold. K-Keep your m-mind busy.” And so I did and here we are.

“A-A ship! It’s a-a ship. W-We’re saved!” Bean Counter cried out rapturously.

I turned my head to where he was pointing and there it was. A ship, fully lit up and rocking in the storm. It must have been the Coal Baron that Amber had mentioned, I thought, arriving just in time to save us. A storybook ending to my tale. But then, there was a flash of lightning that illuminated the name painted on it.

My ears flattened. “No, no no no no no.” I whispered when I read S.S. Gale Clipper. It wasn’t the Coal Baron. It wasn’t even a rescue ship. It was the severed stern, still afloat, as if defying reality and the sea that still pounded it.

The lights were still on. The smoke stack kept billowing. The propellers were still spinning. Like a chicken with its head cut off, the stern sailed on away from us, seemingly oblivious to its own death as it crested another wave like it were still a whole ship and disappeared into the sleet. I never saw Chief Engineer Coalfire or any of his staff try to escape. They may have remained trapped aboard right until it sank.

Bean Counter slumped down in despair. We all did. We stayed like that for a time, I do not know how long. Our strength ebbed with each passing minute as the sleet and wind were unceasing. Finally, all three of us collapsed to the deck, exhausted and freezing.

Sleep did not come easy. The rocking churned my stomach and the cold was like a constant spread of needles being thrown, relentlessly. It’s what I imagine the worst monsters in Tartarus experience. It has to be. There can be no worse punishment than what we’re bearing in this raft.

After a fretting few hours, one of the rocking waves grew higher than the others. The raft nearly toppled over, the rope that acted as a life line snapping. We went flying but me and Amber were able to grab onto the metal edge of the deck. I cut my hoof, but by then there was no feeling left in it so it didn’t matter.

Me and Amber hobbled back onto the raft, only to see Bean was missing. We heard him sputtering and crawled to the edge. He was only just in the water next to the raft. I don’t think either me or Amber could have dived into the water after him and survived.

We tried to pull Bean back onto the raft, but it was too much. I-It was just too much. The cold had sapped all our strength. The best me and Amber could do is cling to the stallion’s forelegs—one leg a piece—and keep him pressed against the side of one of the barrel pontoons. We stayed like that for what seemed like hours, hoping another ship would come and save us. It never did.

At some point in the night, he looked up at us. His eyes were tired and wet. Even with the rain and sleet, I could tell his cheeks were stained with tears, “Th-Thank you for your help, but I can’t. I-I can’t. Please, tell my daughter that daddy l-loves her v-very mu…”

His eyes softened and he slipped from our grasps, sinking down into the roaring waves. It’s just me and Amber left now. We’ve curled up in the center of the raft to try and get some sleep.

“I-I l-love you, Amber.” My voice is barely above a whisper as I stare into her eyes. I choke, sobs wracking my weak lungs, “Oh, oh Celestia. I-I’ve always loved you.”

Tomorrow finally came, but it came far too late. Those sparkling yellow eyes stare back at me, dull and lifeless, that confident light gone from them. She’s dead. I tried nudging her awake the second I woke. Her body is as cold as the ice that’s now building on her vibrant red mane. She might have been dead this whole time, ever since I pulled her from the freezing froth. I could have been hallucinating her warmth and that smile all along. I’ll never know.

I tried to drown myself when I realized she was gone, but I’m too weak. I can’t even find the energy to pull myself to the edge of the raft and slip over the side into the cold embrace of the sea. I can only hope the gales and waves will flip the raft and finally end this suffering.

You hear tales of survival, of ponies beating the odds with their will and heart. Don’t believe them. They’re lies. Told to calm your nerves when at sea or boarding a train. There is only a faint glimmer of hope in this cold darkness and when that hope leaves you staring into frozen, lifeless yellow eyes you realize it was just despair disguising itself the whole time.

Heh. I just thought of everything I’ve been thinking until now. This whole tale I’ve told to drive out the cold. It’s just a sick joke. All those trials. The desperate escape from that rust bucket that wasn’t strong enough to survive a measly storm. The alicorn mockingly dangling a carrot in front of me to keep this delusion alive. And for what? To lie here at the end of it all, too weak to end it myself, waiting for exposure to finally get me.

I’m left to stare up at the night sky until the cold finally kills me. The storm’s breaking up now, as if mocking my desire for the water to finally claim me. The waves are settling. I can see the moon and stars poking through the churning clouds. They look beautiful. Almost as beautiful as… as… as…

A-Amber. Oh, Celestia. Why? Why? Why did you have to take her from me before she knew how I felt? Why did she have to die? Why do I have to live?

Why?

I’m on board the Old Gale now. Out on the starboard deck by Hatch Three. My usual spot. I have a clipboard in my hoof. I look at it. It’s the manifest, clear as day, with Lily’s scribbled hoofwriting just legible. Twelve thousand tons of aggregate. I look down at the immaculate deck plate. It’s never looked so clean. There’s my face, clear as day, looking exactly like it should. This isn’t a dream. It can’t be.

We’re sailing south. I can just see Las Pegasus gleaming like a mirage in the distance. It looks different, though. More radiant and glowing than I remember, like it could cast away all darkness and dry every tear. The water is as calm and reflective as a mirror. There’s a light breeze—the perfect breeze. Just enough to ruffle the mane and stir the senses. And it’s warm, but not hot. A perfect day, if there ever was one.

I look around in shock. The last few days of Tartarus must have been a storybook nightmare I’ve just now awoken from. Everypony’s here. Lily and Pot argue and laugh over by the crane. Captain Heartstroke and the bridge crew are standing up on the bridge deck, smiling and staring off into the sea. First Mate Anchor points at something in the distance and chuckles.

Over at the stern engine room, I see Chief Engineer Coalfire sleeping, his body swaying on a hammock tied to two steam pipes. A few of the engineers are engrossed in a card game on the deck below. Fireside, Grain Store, and Bean Counter are down in the hold, having a whispered conversation about cooking that still loudly echoes out from the empty space.

I look back up and let out a deep, content sigh I hadn’t even realized I’ve been holding in. My eyes have grown damp. It was over. Whatever the nightmare had been—I’m already forgetting it—it was finally over.

My ears perk at the noise of the metal deck plates rattling. I look over. Amber walks up to me. She looks so beautiful. More beautiful than she’d ever looked before. So full of life and radiating such a peaceful warmth. Nothing like the icy heap from that horrible nightmare that’s now blurring into a forgotten memory. She smiles that smile only she could make as she approaches, but as we lock eyes and I see those confident yellow orbs shining brightly again, they grow confused, then concerned.

She stops, just out of reach of my desperate, shaking hoof, “Sea? What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here yet.”

My eyes barely opened from the fevered delusion. It’s morning. The sun beams its warmth onto my thawing coat. The raft has stopped. After three days of drifting, it must have finally washed up on shore. I lift my head as far as it’ll go, only a few inches it seems. That’s how weak and delirious I am. Forests line the shore, but there’s a clearing about a hoofball field away with a farmhouse and windmill. I can see blurry movement on the porch.

Somepony shouts something before I let my head fall back onto the deck and drift away to sleep.

Author's Note

Inspired by and based on the story of Dennis Hale and the sinking of the Daniel J. Morrell on November 29, 1966, which killed 28 of her crew.

The cover art was generated by Stable Diffusion and the life raft edited in.