chapter 1: Tip of the Iceberg

“Do the thing you fear most and the death of fear is certain.”

-Mark Twain (Also known as: Samuel Clemens)

His broken leg burned, twirling in the frigid and salted water. Drowsily, his eyes began to feel heavy and started to close. He couldn’t fall asleep now, not in the Atlantic Ocean and drifting on an iceberg. Mark thought, starting to slowly fall asleep would allow him to get the rest he needed, but would also make for an opportunity to get captured or slip from the iceberg. Trying to keep himself awake, not thinking about the pain in his leg, he began talking to himself, slapping himself—anything to keep him awake—the thought of being in South Carolina again was a reward to the bough of his lips.

As Mark inspected his injury, he watched in distress as a pool of blood expanded and dissolved into the blue, almost turning the water violet.  Thinking as his leg would somehow appeal to sharks and other creatures, he immediately pulled it out. A intense pain, coarse throughout the veins in his leg made Mark believed he wasn’t going to make it through the long and bitter cold twilight that surrounded him.

A plan scattered through Mark’s head which made him viewed the stars in the blackened sky, eyeing at the stars to see if he can identify any of them, he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t know where the big and little dippers were. He really wasn’t too sure what stars connected them. “Was the North Star on the little dipper or the big dipper?” Mark said out loud. His pointing finger following the white dots “No-no Mark, neither has the North Star, the North Star is on Perseus. Yeah that seems right, wait?” Mark said, confusing himself.

He tried to stand up with his suffering leg to get a better view of the stars, hopping on one leg wasn't helping at all because he made the small ice berg tilt left and right. The wobbles made him fall on to the cold and hard ice, and another intense pain went through his leg which made Mark scream in pain while he clutched his leg. His face was right by the red pool of water which he had soaked his foot in. After the crazy pain was reduced, Mark focused his eyes on the violet water. He really wasn’t that interested in water that much before, but now it seemed different because he saw something in the water.

        He knew for a fact it wasn’t a fish because of its size. He looked even closer. It was a long tube-shaped object. “I can’t believe it was them.” Mark whispered, the water rippling when Mark talks. He moved towards the edge of the iceberg, closer to the violet water, which made the iceberg wobble again. In just a fraction of a moment the tube-shaped object was invisible to Mark’s eye. “DAMMIT!” Mark said angrily, slamming his hand on the ice making the iceberg wobble again.

“How come I didn’t see that coming?” Mark argued to himself. He sat up right against a lump of the uneven iceberg. Tiredness was now filling his eyes, and he sat as he starting to fall asleep. He gave himself a good slap, which made a little red hand print on his face. “No Mark,” He said, yawning a little. “No, got to stay awake.”

A long stare at the ocean told Mark that anything can go from good, to worst the thing in the world in two seconds. His eyes saw a fired up boat leaning on a broken iceberg, and the thought of the Titanic quickly came into his head. The fire had put Mark in a bad mood, but the darkness which hid his fears made him insane or as he called it "more nervous than usual". Every now and then, Mark would look at the fired up boat to see if his fear would come alive, that it would somehow come for Mark while he was sleeping.

Smoke and fire rose up from the top of the boat which had a fishy smell towards it. Mark always loved the fresh smell of anything other than fish. Then a part of his stomach started to turn sour, which made him clutch his stomach with an arm when it was soon followed by a little soft whimper. When he looked at the deck of the boat, he saw a person lying there. Not moving at all, the corpse just laid there silently and motionless. All hope had been lost for Mark, his heart sank as he saw the corpse of a person lay there, with no thought of moving. "NO-NO-NO-NO!!" Mark screamed, the screams didn't have any effect on the corpse who still laid there. "HANG ON BUDDY!!! ALMOST THERE!!"

He placed his hand on the long sleeve shirt he was wearing, right where the stitching was placed, and with one fluent motion and all his strength, he ripped the sleeve clean off. Tightly, he tied the sleeve around his thigh to cut off the blood circulation. Then with his leg dangling behind, he crawled painfully to the edges of the uneven iceberg.

Looking at the ocean again, searching for anything to help him, were two wooden sticks which were about the same size as Mark’s tibia bone. And again, he ripped the sleeve off his shirt, the tearing sound rung in his ears. His leg burned as he started to place the wooden sticks on to his throbbing leg.