La Sola Muerte

Chapter One

The window rocks from side to side, the horizon changing its angle. The light on the port side comes into view every few seconds, up and down, up and down. I white knuckle the cabin bed to stop myself from falling out. A huge wave hits the side of the vessel, my battery lamp, drinks decanter and cutlery fall to the floor. The room is turned on its side, and my stomach follows. 

With my insides whirling like a washing machine, a lump begins to rise in my throat. Instinctively I cough to encourage the emotion back down into my stomach, and my eyes water. My breathing quickens as the room moves around me. With wide eyes I try to focus on something.

Am I dizzy, or are the conditions this bad?

Despite how tight my grip is, I am sent flying from the bed bunk. Hitting the solid wood flooring, my head is first to connect. Instantly, heat courses through my veins and straight to my face.

I am regretting this decision. I think I prefer being out of work.

The production company, when purchasing the boat, didn't do so with comfort in mind. There wasn't far for me to fall in this twelve by twelve feet cabin. On first appearance, most of the furniture seems to be repurposed shipping timber and carries the smell of previous voyages with them. The shoddy room barely holds the single cabin bed, pushed up against the wall. It's clearly fused to it. At the end, a metal trunk is wedged, presumably for me to hold my possessions. On the opposite side, where I now lay, the fold down table takes up most of the remaining space.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen...

It was a few months ago my agent, who had deserted me previously, called me with the offer. A production company with a gutsy new executive wanted to make a show. A travel show he originally called it; the details soon changed though. Before I had a chance to question it, I was on this godforsaken boat. For someone who was once hot property in the film industry, this is what I would have called a "sell out". Now, I am unable to pick my roles. Not in a position to negotiate, the roles now come to me. My self-worth is clearly as choppy as this boat.

Still lying on the floor following the fall, I've managed to roll under the flip up table. Part of me wants to move, part of me can't be bothered. I didn't want this damn job anyway, but what do they say, beggars can't be choosers?

It wouldn't be the worst thing if I went down with this ship.

A knock on my cabin door bounces of the wooden walls forcing me to drag myself from the floor. Rolling onto my front, I take in a deep breath. My ribs scream out in pain, and I hug them in response. Pushing onto my knees, my whole-body aches. Another knock pounds on the door..., sounds like a bloody woodpecker.

I gradually got to my feet, stumbling to the door I turn the handle. The motion of the boat allows the door to swing wide open, crashing against the flimsy wooden frame.

"Mr Forbes, the director would like a word." A frail, timid female voice creeps through from the other side of my door.

It must be Lucy, the director's assistant.

"Okay, Lucy, no problem. I'll be there shortly." I respond not wanting to give away that I am not ready.

Lucy doesn't respond but the clanking from her heels on the wooden floor reverberates under the door frame. Grabbing the deodorant from the end of my bunk, I shower myself in the fragrant mist. Stuffing my feet into my brown suede boots, I grab my jacket from the back of the chair and head out.

Tracing my hands along the wall either side of me, my legs tremble as I stumble down the corridor. Although not as aggressive, the leeway given by the waves was hard to control. I am bouncing off the walls on my descent down the corridor. It is as dark and dank as my cabin, decorated entirely in wood panels.