/lit/ - Literature

After three days the life raft had formed into a sort of hot tube, of stagnant salt water, piss and spilled whisky. A man, shaggy bread and tan lay in the sun baking like pottery clay. With his last reserves of energy he was ready. With one true flex of his back mussels he flopped himself out of the raft and into the dark ocean water. His skin cooled like tempering steel in oil. Leaving his eyes open he saw only void. He let himself with a bit of struggle against the will to life take in the water to his lungs. A painful jerking came about his body against his will. “In a few moments I’ll be dead.” He looked up and could see the suns obscured by rings of water. Its color muted and tinted into a gold and cyan kaleidoscope. The whisky bottle being without density sunk past him as his body's lizards mind tried to resist death. Darkens now. Nothing. Coughing up water, Gasping for air, heat, most heat. A loud moaning. A whale, like Jonna, had been swallowed by a whale. Stink, the mouth of this leviathan smell’s like rotting fish. He sat there mindless, in shock. After three days at sea he tried to kill himself, drunken off a surviving bottle of McCullen's, his head pounded from dehydration. “What a comedy is death.” Now he felt a rushing, “This whale will swallow me? I'll burn in its stomach acid. Do they have stomach acid?” But the motion to consume him did not occur. Instead now a sudden flash of light came, He was back above water. And there in the midday sun was another man, in fact there were two men, both looked Indian. There faces in pure shock. “Better play this cool.” And with grace REDACTED jumped from the whale's mouth onto the deck of the boat. “Any water?” The two now as he could clearly see, yes there were Indian men staring back. In what he assumed was Hindi they slowly started to speak. A thick Dravidian accent form one of them. Then a splash of water misted the boat and rocked it. The whale had gone home it seems. “Water?” REDACTED asks if he were impatiently in line at the bank and not instead say, being saved by a whale after trying to drown one's self after being lost at sea for three days. One of the men nodding their head in that Indian side to side wobbling way. “Sir.” And ran to the stern of the ship, and brought back a plastic bottle of water. Downing the whole thing in only a few massive sips REDACTED, let out a loud relieved and refreshed sigh. “More?” He asked. They brought more, and as he began to drink the second bottle another splash and mist of water came over the boat. On the deck thudded an empty whisky bottle. It’s lapel read “McCullen’s”.

Wright the next part of this story.

looking for books that are non fiction about Caribbean piracy. Maps, pictures, a general historical overlook.

What are some /r9k/-themed books? Something about living with social anxiety/awkwardness, living as a hermit because of that or just generally feeling insecure for your weaknesses (like being a 3/10).