No sound permeates the darkness save for the water that laps at the sides of the raft. The slow undulating currents of the sea rock it left and right, back and forth. It's beginning to sag in the middle, and occasionally, the water crests over and spills into the raft, sliding down the yellow rubber and collecting in a cold, briny puddle by my bare feet.
The ration of a few drops of fresh water does little more than wet my cracked lips. There's two days' worth left in the bottle, maybe three. In the calm, there are a few moments when I think I hear a ship cutting through the water, but it's the wind playing tricks again.
There is nothing. Only the dark, with the moon, the stars, and the sea to keep it company. LS