Carlin Evans

Portfolio Assignment #7 - Active Voice/Imagery/Readability

I dreamily spectate upon the cosmic ocean. A body of obscure, deep, navy
blue water encompassing the reality of my world; hiding the shadowy depths in
whom sharks consistently circle me without repose. The ocean, capable of both
lackadaisical, rhythmic waves and stormy 100ft swells, surrounds me in all
directions for days, weeks, months on end without any sign of terrestrial masses.
This, along with the contiguous shade of light blue above me, with the occasional
mass of fluffy white, is my ecosystem, my world, my lifes legacy. My, or should I say
our, life boat starkly contrasts against this world, with streaks of bright orange
occupying the interior of our metal boat, and the presence of a striped orange and
black and white 400lb Bengal tiger, a predator clearly a lengthy way from home.
I relentlessly hear the rhythmic lapping of waves upon the hull of metal in
which I call home; the occasional howling roar of an oceanic storm, swirling
behemoths of rain, wind, and lightning, or the rewarding flapping, spraying of
hundreds of flying fish, and even once, the BOOM of a beaching whale, just a mere
dozen feet from my, or our* raft.
I consistently taste the raw flesh of freshly butchered sushi, including internal
organs, dazed eyes, flaking skin and a bulky amount of protein, a prospect
incompatible with low fresh water access, and thus creating one scrawny but
bloated boy, and one bloated tiger. Water, being my most cherished procession,
only derived from rain and desalination pumps, therefore leaves me to perpetually
taste the sticky, parched inwards of my mouth, itching for just a couple drops of the
cold, refreshing virtue commonly referred to as water. The constant aura of salt only
escalates my situation, being in the air, ocean spray, and bleak nourishment I could
acquire, it became a scarring taste in my mouth and upon my skin.
I hesitantly feel my skin, a term not necessarily prevalent in my
circumstances, rather my ulcer covered, aching, peeling, sagging mass of
membrane serving as the singular protection against ultraviolent rays and salty
ocean water. The midday heat is perpetually inescapable and ruthlessly sucks the
will to survive, and air from my body, putting me into a dehydrated, hallucinationfilled, high: a process whom I welcome with open arms. This eternal cycle sapped
my companion of visible livelihood and allowed me to feel, and brush his now dull,
shedding fur coat through a bond of shared torture.
I smell the decaying flesh of fish, orangutan, hyena, and zebra through the
overwhelming stench of salt.
I, Pi, live on a lifeboat in the Atlantic Ocean.