There were as many boats sunk in the desert as there were in all the seven seas combined. Neither rain nor rust touch their remains, though the wrecks have long since been worn smooth from centuries of harsh sandstorms and wandering dunes.
It's hard to say how or why the ships are there or who there crews once were. All that's left is wood and bones and the lingering feeling that nobody had left. Sure the bones could be some other animal or inhuman being and sure it could all be an elaborate prank or art installation but it still wouldn't explain all the words scratched into the lower decks.
It starts off as full sentences, detailed registers of the entire crew and their cargo and the lists gradually shorten s they lose more and more and the neatly scratched writing becomes hastily hacked away scrawls begging for water and death.
The human mind wasn't meant to be trapped in any kind of vastness, be it sea or sand or space. There's just something about a great nothing that turns the mind tricky and uproots all common sense, replacing it with delusion and desperation.
On particularly restless days you can see the crew in the corners of your eyes, peering up from the lower decks. Their footsteps follow you through the sand as they all desperately try to keep up with you, to follow you til the desert ends and the sea begins and they can sail home at long last.
It's hard to say how or why the ships are there or who there crews once were. All that's left is wood and bones and the lingering feeling that nobody had left. Sure the bones could be some other animal or inhuman being and sure it could all be an elaborate prank or art installation but it still wouldn't explain all the words scratched into the lower decks.
It starts off as full sentences, detailed registers of the entire crew and their cargo and the lists gradually shorten s they lose more and more and the neatly scratched writing becomes hastily hacked away scrawls begging for water and death.
The human mind wasn't meant to be trapped in any kind of vastness, be it sea or sand or space. There's just something about a great nothing that turns the mind tricky and uproots all common sense, replacing it with delusion and desperation.
On particularly restless days you can see the crew in the corners of your eyes, peering up from the lower decks. Their footsteps follow you through the sand as they all desperately try to keep up with you, to follow you til the desert ends and the sea begins and they can sail home at long last.
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