The Isolated Island (6)
It was the second day of the cruise. And on this day, the sun was glaring hot. Seawater has become the only barrier and the boundary between life and death.
On the outside of the ship, in a place where no one could see. There were obvious striations on the solid steel hull, as well as horrible mottled traces as if long, sharp barbs had smashed into the ship repeatedly before giving up when they couldn't climb on board.
A small fluttering piece of brown paper drifted in the wind and landed slowly at the feet of a crew member. The yellowed and sunken eyes glanced down at the paper before walking over it carelessly, the water on his boots blurred the already draining ink, destroying its original appearance.