The Autumn chill blows across the lake again like a howling banshee, and once more the cook is attempting to light the stove to prepare our late breakfast.
To get some fresh air I step out onto the deck of the ship from my quarters. It was still raining and sleeting per the usual weather of the lake. To try and numb the pain I try to light a cigarette from a 12 pack.
It’s too cold to light anything. It’s been a while since I ate anything. The food is still soggy and cold, and the clothes are still wet since our last shift.
I can still feel it, the icy water clutching my skin like the hand of the reaper, like fish eating away at my flesh, just as we ate at theirs.
I gaze over the side to look down upon the hull; still broken from the day the lights went out. I can see the men who drowned, their faces still gaunt as they realized what was happening to them. The waves are still trying in vain to grab them.
That moment was about 59 years ago, and I haven't a coin to pay the ferryman.
To this day the Edmund Fitzgerald still sails these waters, searching for a light to bring them home, all of its 29 of us.
Spooky
I remember seeing a detailed video on the EF disappearance. No SOS call to the trailing boat, no sign anything disastrous up ahead - just gone in minutes, the largest cargo ship to ever sail the Great Lakes.
Great entry, theoddballphilosopher :)
Thanks. The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald is one of my favorite songs.