Lost at Sea: Excerpts from the Diary of Lionel Vorb

Compiler's Note:
Three weeks ago, while I was working in the stacks of ASU's Hayden Library, a cart full of WWII-era folios spilled over and injured a pair of small children. Since I was the person who had been pushing the cart when it spilled on top of the youngsters, as well as the one who had lured them down to the basement floor, I figured that I owed it to the lads to shelve the books before reporting them for trespassing. Luckily, whatever it was they were saying to me was in Spanish (what the hell does "hombre misterioso" mean?), so I wasn't distracted as I put the folios on the proper shelves in call number order.

Anyway, aside from the fifty or so large books that spilled off the cart, roughly one hundred sheets of worn, loose-leaf notebook paper were scattered over the floor and children. The pages were not given specific dates, but nevertheless I was able to put them in order because the entries -- written in an astonishingly crude hand -- were marked "Day 1, Day 2, Day 3," etc. On top of that, the author wrote his name at the top of the first page, along with several poor drawings of sea creatures, both real and imaginary (unless you're holding your breath that "Coral Sex Goddess" might some day be discovered in the reefs off of some Caribbean island). Thinking that the diary must have some value, I have extracted excerpts and am reprinting them here. The title, Lost at Sea, is mine, but all the rest is verbatim transcription.

With the assistance of a handful of devoted historians and librarians at ASU, who must remain anonymous because of their involvement with terrorist organizations, I was able to find out the source of the diary. Its author is the late Lionel Vorb, a combination grocer and haberdasher who made a small fortune when he patented a single device which could serve as either a cereal bowl or a yamulke (a Pilsner glass/Catholic mitre model was in the works at the time of his passing, I later found out). With this sum of cash, Mr. Vorb purchased a small yacht, not fit for long-distance travel, and set sail from Galveston, TX for the shores of St. Bartholomew's island in the Caribbean Sea. The diary, along with the ship's deceased Captain Vorb, was found when The Mabel was spotted by tourists on Key West several months later.
--K. R. King, ed.

Lost at Sea: Excerpts from the Diary of Lionel Vorb

Day 3
A mild start to a maiden solo voyage. The sea is the color of blue topaz, and so clear and calm that I feel as if I can see nearly as far down into the ocean as I can when looking up into the cloudless sky. Weather has been beautiful and warm, and a steady, sturdy breeze has kept my sails consistently taut, so that I am moving towards St. Bart's as if being pulled by a long, invisible cord. Setting out three days ago, I'd figured that bringing along a modest surplus of food and drink would be a good idea, but so far -- in spite of the exercise, which includes not only ship work but also several lengthy swims in the ocean per day -- I have consumed no more calories than the average dachshund would have. My sleep, though several hours shorter each night than it would be on land, has nevertheless been rejuvenating, and though for the past two nights I've used the aid of three fingers of brandy to help me fall asleep, I have not woken to the ill effects of consuming alcohol. I expect to land just after dawn tomorrow, and though I'm enjoying maritime life, await a fresh bed and the delights of the indoors on land.

Day 5
Never will I forgive myself for confusing magnetic North with geographical North ever again. Damned compass, and damn me for being such a slave to my instruments! I ought to have learned to use the stars; when I land at St. Bart's (or wherever I land, whenever) I will ask around for some quick pointers in elementary celestial navigation.

Hunger and thirst have still not become problems, and I have plenty of food and drink if they ever do; the sparse eating and drinking of the early voyage has paid off in that respect. I imagine I still have four days of good nutrition left, no doubt long enough to hold me over until I strike land or spot another vessel. Currently, the two demons haunting me are Boredom and Loneliness. I haven't masturbated so much since I first discovered autoeroticism in middle school.

A final note: I must purchase a radio in harbor. I have had no cell phone service since entering international waters. A slave to my instruments!

Day 8
Two days of food and drink remain, and I have decided to save it until I feel as if I am about to keel over with hunger or pass out from thirst. I've also filled two bottles with my own urine, which is the color of peanut butter, though I have no idea yet what to do with it (nor whether I'm brave enough to follow through once I figure it out). Luckily (to speak of luck at times such as these!), on the same day I decided to quit masturbating in order to save energy and body mass, my libido dissolved like an ice cube tossed out into this vast, warm sea. It's hardly worth mentioning that my boredom has gone up intensely as a result.

Perhaps it's best for my mental health to close each entry with a statement of optimism, so here is today's: The more empty waters I sail through, the more likely it becomes that I will strike land soon, so long as I do not backtrack or go in circles. I'm gradually increasing my chances of reaching shore and decreasing the possibility of remaining asea, simply by keeping on as I am. Of course, I've no other choice.

Day 10
I saw my first shark today -- miles out, popping up from time to time like the target in some carnival game. Only, of course, the target is I. How fitting that the day I run out of food should be the one that I become prey! Of course, the predators could have only been an illusion; I feel the beginning effects of dehydration and, perhaps, heat stroke. I don't know which I prefer: being hunted by vicious sea beasts or succumbing to delirium. There are six bottles of urine now, and half a bottle of brandy.

Day 12
The sharks have continued to follow me, but dare I say that with them they've brought a blessing? For just this morning, as I was gazing out and shaking my fist at those terrible creatures, I witnessed a frantic splashing, which grew ever nearer, and soon I was able to make out a human form swimming towards me. As the person neared, I found that it was indeed a beautiful woman! I reached out and helped her aboard, and once on deck, she threw herself upon me and kissed me as I've never been kissed before. Rather than undressing me in the conventional sense, she tore my clothes off with her teeth, and we made love passionately before she (cursed as I am!) flopped back into the sea, never to reemerge. Upon inspecting myself later in the afternoon, and piecing together what I could of my tattered clothing, I found several of her triangular, barbed teeth embedded in my flesh, and my penis looks as if it's gone through a street cleaner. I must be awfully dehydrated, for my body to be so damaged.

Day 16
Ther isn no more BRandy. I'd drank it all.