"So, me boy, where we off to now, lad?" The paddles creaked and the waves rippled. The boy was crying. The boy was dead inside. The ship had wrecked, on a stranded boat they were sailing, on nowhere, to nowhere.
The old man didn't give two shits about what the boy thought. He was just playing with, to act as if he didn't know the west from the east. He knew where he was going, and he was going to live. As for the boy, he really didn't give two shits about what the boy thought.
As they sailed towards an island, the island slowly engulfed them, as if with welcome arms. Jokingly, the old man poked the boy to see the island. His eyes opened, with a shimmer of glittery hope. He would be safe. He would live! There was hope in this world. And he was grateful for it. He was sorry for all he had thought. He thought he was going to die! But the world did have its miracles. And he was oh, so grateful for it. He wasn't going to die. He was going to live. He was going to live to be a man. And he would do many good things, because good things came to help him be. This was the best thing that happened to him. From a downed feeling, to his senses regained. The world was beautiful once more. The world loved him, and he loved the world too! The island would be the best thing ever. Everything was the best thing ever. He couldn't believe his eyes. It really was an island! He wasn't going to die! He wasn't going to die!
The old man gave the boy a prod into the sea. Heh heh heh.
