See the seasick sailor alone at the bow of his vessel. No it is not his vessel, he remembers.

A skinny man who says little and pays even less had been destined the boat by his father and it was his. Eight men made up Orion's crew, and so each man has had his own week lost at sea. The sailor smokes tobacco and the nothingness of night's sea tempers his nausea. Searching for the moon he turns and views in the captain's quarters that very man that never sleeps staring at the same black. Pacing back to his bunk, which is too short leg wise and too thin the other way, he ponders treason. The darkness doubts him, as does his Captain. He realizes they are too far gone for mutiny, and that only savvy could save them from the cold now. He clambers down and feels his way to his designated space. It smells of feet and fish. A greenhorn sleeptalks in the bunk below. He lights a candle and imagines the ship burning. Who aboard would be the first to sink? Some of these sailors could not swim, but some were strong and brave. The captain though, he'd surely perish. The bravest always does. He'd shrivel right alongside the wood because them's the rules he always said. I am a traitor. He apologizes to his bunkmates aloud. What's done is done though, and he is a traitor. He wakes the next morning and says not a word during dawn rations. The captain grumbles through his feed instructions to stay alert and keep eyes wide. The men move to arm wrestle and play cards on the deck while through a silver telescope the captain scouts a way. Seasick the sailor grabs the railing and limps to the bow away from the furor and lights his tobacco. He watches his captain stare straight. A loud crack underneath the hull. The men drop hands and rush to repairs. The sailor stays put and closes his eyes. Cranking followed by the boyish wails of men losing a battle of strength echo from the stern. Eyes open now, he observes his captain maintaining course. Orion floods. The crew have begun to pray and wait for his cold hand. Wetness grasps at their rubber overalls. The sailor knows what must be done. He strides healthily passed his mates and toward and into the captain's chambers where on his knees the captain watches the end. Sailor slides behind him and wraps an arm around his skinny neck. He locks and crushes and waits. The captain does not resist or spit but stares and flops like an old fish before falling limp. He stands for the last time. Water has begun to creep in and the man basks in its circles as it takes him.