In the tiny waiting room there is a picture of fishing boats on a calm sea. It was like that when we sailed, but in the flush of a red dawn, the wind increased, flicking spray from breaking waves that stung our faces and made Saafa wake and cry. Then a grey vessel suddenly ahead, and the outboard roaring as we turned away, the inflatable rolling, screams, the shock of cold water, darkness - for a terrible second I lost hold of Safaa, grabbed her again, struggled kicking into the light, and there was Tareq. Desperate cries all round us, but we could only help Saafa, supporting her between our
life jackets, her panicked gasps that wrung my soul.
I push away the memories as a woman comes over, says they are ready for us now. Oddly calm, already reprieved, we lead Saafa forward to learn our fate.
A former offshore worker, Dominic Bell started writing short fiction as a break from staring at the North Sea. He has won several competitions in Writing Magazine and the sadly defunct Writers' Forum.
This story was shortlisted in the September 24 Monthly Micro Competition.