With his mouth half-agape, Erik forced the oar back into the water for the fiteen-millionth time that day. He was only halfway conscious, driven into a self-induced hypnosis by the monotonous labor. Throwing the idea around in his head, he considered that he might have been slain and sent to hell for something he might or might not have done. That wasn't the case, but it might as well have been; Erik couldn't imagine hell's flames having any more fury than the whip, nor could he fathom that any sort of torture there might labotomize his brain activity like endless rowing. At least the flame would provide warmth.

Making things worse was the fact that he had the misfortune of being stuck on the upper deck. Being a very stout man with a very hairy, red face helped things a bit, as did the many layers of dead critter flesh he kept wrapped around himself. Along with that, the constant rowing kept his upper body warm, though he couldn't help but wonder if he had gotten frostbite on his feet, which he could no longer feel.

None of that stopped snow, rain, hail, sleet, and whatever other manner of cold wet material from clinging to his face. Probably Erik's personal favorite fluid to freeze onto his face was his own snot from his runny nose. It was the main reason that he breathed with his mouth. Breathing through his nose caused all the free fluid within to freeze, which was not an entirely pleasant feeling. As a result, a steady stream of snot trickled out of his nose, promptly freezing into his moustache, which had pretty much become a bristly snot-cube by this point.

Erik hadn't started out on the upper deck, though. Originally, he was on the lower deck, which was only slightly more hospitable. For reasons he didn't fully understand, he was moved upstairs, the only clue as to why being an unmanned oar, an empty bench, and some vomit and blood stains frozen to the deck. He didn't bother to ask questions, that would only get him beaten, and so far, he had been obedient (and lucky) enough to recieve minimal beatings. Occasionally, he wondered about his partner downstairs, who got left by himself when Erik was taken away.

He's probably dead by now, Erik thought, recalling that the man was not great in strength or health. He hadn't talked to the man much, but he had been the closest thing to a friend that he had on the ship. Even though he didn't recall the ship's crew outlawing talking amongst prisoners, he had simply assumed it was not allowed. It seemed like everything else landed them a beating, so it only made sense.

Thoughts of rest came to mind. Erik's body screamed at him to stop and just curl up and sleep. This desire came in waves, each more powerful than the last, and it was all he could do to keep fighting it. His head sagged and his eyes closed, but still he continued to row.

Stay awake. You're not tired. Keep rowing. Stay awake. You're not tired. Keep rowing. Stay awake. You're not tired. Keep rowing. Stay awake. You're not tired. Keep rowing. Stay awake. You're not tired. Keep rowing. Stay awake. You're not tired. Keep rowing. Stay awake. You're not tired. Keep rowing. Stay awake. You're not tired. Keep rowing. Stay awake. You're not tired. Keep rowing. Stay awake. You're not tired. Keep rowing...