Leviathan
Each count of his breath was as painful as the last. With every second, to him, minutes. The corners of his eyes brought dread. A fading conscious… a fading mind. He had forgotten how long he had been drifting. The ship was wrecked... its crew dead. It was instantaneous if he remembered correctly. They were the lucky ones. He continued his count, taking into regard how little he was taking in oxygen. John lost a quarter of his tank through a breach. A rough patch job earned him about a few hours left of oxygen… provided he rationed it. But those few hours were already long gone. A fusion of anxiety and fear shortened his lifespan. And in those moments he was close, close to what he believed would be his inevitable fate. Death did not scare him, however… John was afraid of dying. He was afraid of being alone in his last moments… afraid of dying alone and dying a slow, helpless painful death. Never in his life had he imagined this was how it would end. It was his worst fear com