We sailed west for, perhaps, another five days. If we passed land we did not know it. The sea’s luminescence stretched, unbroken, to the horizon. Occasionally we passed through brighter stretches of water. The increased light filled me with a longing for true sun and the warmth that accompanies it. Then we would pass through the brightness, back into the endless twilight. Somehow, that felt preferable to the false promises of daylight.
On the sixth day we began to pass clumps of thick weed. The first clumps were small, merely a hand’s breadth. With the passing of the hours, the weed packs became larger. And ranker. A smell of rot and decay began to permeate the air. With the stench came the buzzing of flies.