I wasn't yet born when humanity abandoned all land for the safety of the seas, desperately stampeding over each other to reach anything that seemed like it would float. Longevity of the crafts was far from anyone's minds in favour of the animalistic need to survive.
It's said that we left the streets covered in a meter deep layer of broken bodies but none of us dare to ask the older generations. There's something hurtful and haunted in their eyes that says just how truthful this is and how brutal they had to be to outlast it all.
We haven't seen the land ourselves but we grew up hearing tales of the forests and mountains, of how still and silent the ground was and how dry the dirt felt. It's all lost to us now, nobody wants to risk their lives to check and see if the multitude of chasms have stopped sprouting limbs and maws.
It's safer out at sea, where the ground is too far below for anything to reach up for us and where all we have to fear is that which swims below. Our vessel is blessedly too small to draw their attention, too small to make us worth attacking, too small for us to remain for much longer.
Like a hermit crab, we are outgrowing our shell and need to move on but we haven't seen another ship for years. I overheard a couple of the elders mentioning a radio message, encrypted and claiming the land is safe to return to. They'd planned to head back til a new message came through.
It simply said "They can speak. Boats unsafe."
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