By Chris Champness - 296 words

The second hand of the clock ticks past the midnight hour. Another watch over. I climb up
the three storeys of metal stairs and out of the humid heat of the engine room. Through
the accomodation passage and into the cool atmosphere of a tropical night.

I am now on the stern where several feet below me the ship's propeller revolves its
endless circles. Churning, as it does so, the salt content of the water to leave a long
straight wake of foam stretching almost to the horizon. Staring fixedly at it is
mesmerising. Breaking the mood, I turn my eye full circle around my environment, Water,
water, everywhere. Where, I wonder, did it all come from? The wind is light, even over the
deck with 15 knots of foreward movement to boost it. The sea is calm with no more than
small wavelets decorating the surface to break the monotony of the seascape. The light
of a half moon reflects back from the surface to create a splendid vista of twinkling lights.

Above me, the sky is visible as a giant black canopy, punctured by pinpricks of the light
emitted by the countless stars of our galaxy, across which it seems we all all gliding.
Around me the ship's superstructure is dark and silent. The stern light, pointing bckwards,
casts only a muted shadow on my surroundings. The only clues to the continuation of life
are the gentle sound of the bow wave far ahead of me, the swishing of the water as it
moves along the length of the hull. and the faint vibration from the machinery benath my
feet.

Somehow, or so it seems, time has vanished and I exist only in a vacuum of space.