Life in Paintings

Chapter 46 - The Raft of Medusa

Chapter 46 – The Raft of Medusa

I wake up, swaying.

I'm on a precariously made raft in the middle of the sea with too many men for the small space.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I think I actually remember studying this painting in class.

People enjoyed how gruesome the history of it was.

A hundred something men to begin with. One woman. Fifteen people alive at the end. Everything awful that could happen basically happening.

This is just the curse flipping a middle finger at me. I have no chance of survival and obviously nothing to learn from this, nothing to gain.

This is just suffering for the sake of suffering. And experiencing the worst of people.

I already expected the worse in people before. Gustave is in the only exception. He's always been the best version of everything I could look for.

I'm glad he's not here in these paintings with me though. Especially in this one. I'm glad at least I'm the only one suffering.

"Wait? Who are you? How did you get here? Were you always here?" one of the man asks. He looks drunk. He's got a crazy look in his eyes.

All the men do, as they all turn to look in my direction because the man just shouted.

"I was always here," I try to say with confidence.

It's useless.

A see a spark in their eyes, and these paintings have accustomed me to the worst of people. Unfortunately, I'm pretty damn sure I can guess what they want.

I don't know how many days they've been at sea.

But I know cannibalism was an option in the roster of batshit stuff happening in this painting.

I think I should jump in the sea and drown instead. Drowning would probably be better than getting eaten.

I've been eaten and I've drowned before, so I can actually have an opinion on this.

But I'm not fast enough. The raft is too small. Two men catches me before I can even move.

"Is this what we've become? Was this always who we were?" one of the men wearing a red piece of fabric over him, asks in a cry

Nobody answers him. Someone bites off a piece of my skin.

I scream out.

Last time this happened my skull was crushed instantly. I didn't have time to feel it. I didn't have much time to suffer.

Things go quite differently this time. I feel each bite, and scream and shout. I trash and try to get away, but all I manage to do is send salty water to my bleeding wounds, making myself suffer even more.

I beg for them to just kill me quick instead, and eventually, one of them bites off a piece of my neck, making me bleed out and choke on my own blood.