Thomas leaned back against the rails and considered how wonderful it would be to allow himself slip over the ledge, into the water, and disappear into the gaping blue. To feel the surface close above his head like the teeth of some giant monster. To sink farther and farther down into its bowels and inhale its blood, choking on it, quickly losing consciousness, and passing away without even realizing it. What a treasure everyone thought it was to be conscious, aware. To have that ever-meddling subconscious.
The captain considered how satisfying it would be to grasp Thomas’ slender neck and hold it tightly, watching Thomas’ eyes silently pleading with him, Thomas’ lips mouthing the begging words that the captain would ache to hear, to resist the temptation and keep his clasp until Thomas’ thin frame began quivering and the man’s long, thin fingers fought at the captain’s nose, long whiskers, and powerful fists, before Thomas finally wet himself and promptly died. Then, all the captain would need to do was throw the corpse overboard and blame the sea for Thomas’ disappearance.
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