Turning

When I woke up the next morning, I instinctively felt something amiss, something… different. It took me a few moments to realize that the speed of the ship, which had always stayed constant even through the worst of storms, had changed. 

One out the window was all I needed to understand why. The ocean which had looked like blood, seemed to have also gained its consistency. The beautiful vessel which had sailed on steadily through any obstacles seemed to have met its match in the nauseating liquid that drastically slowed it. The sight of the sticky blood-like water clinging to the hulls of the ship was… unnerving, to say the least.

The usually cheerful or at least busy atmosphere seemed unusually melancholy today. Even the captain, who I rarely saw without a smile, seemed to be lost in his sorrows as the crew mates sat or squatted on the deck, mourning a loss I did not understand.

There was no small talk to be made for the whole day, and I wisely kept my mouth shut and stayed away from any possibly sensitive topic, conversing only in hushed tones in a group with others around my age. Even so, I could not make head or tail of the wistful conversations they had, remembrances of a past I did not know. 

They spoke fondly of land almost as if they would never see it again; of times before a 'Great War', one that had apparently forced them onto this ship. It was when they spoke of their families that I realized a chilling truth: all of them were orphans. Their parents had been lost or killed, while precious few had siblings or relatives that were on the ship with them. 

Slowly, their words started to paint a dim, but growing picture of the war that had happened - just how terrible it had been, how many lives it had claimed. Each of their sentences served to slowly illuminate the situation as I watched the puzzle pieces fall in place.

However, as I fell asleep that night, there was a single conversation that I could not stop thinking about. At some point, one of the younger boys close to me, who looked to be around twelve, had started sobbing. Immediately, an older individual - perhaps a friend or a relative - comforted him with soothing words. I couldn't help but overhear their conversation.

"It's okay, Felix, it's okay… you're alright now, you're safe here, 'kay?" the older boy spoke with surprisingly gentleness. Once Felix stopped weeping, he followed up with a question.

"What's wrong, Felix? You can tell me what happened if you want to, but if you just need a shoulder to cry on, I'm always here for you, hmm?" he said softly.

Slowly, Felix started to speak, and as he did so, the strangled sobs he had been trying to control died away. 

"My- my little sister turned in front of me," he confessed softly.

The older boy stiffened for a moment before he swore quietly, and hugged Felix to his chest as terrible, grief-filled sobs tore through the younger boy anew. 

The last sentence that had been spoken - that was the one I didn't understand. What had been meant by 'turned'? This world hardly seemed like a sort of zombie apocalypse….

It was only as my consciousness faded into the abyss of sleep that I realized I had not seen a single woman or girl on the ship.