In retrospect, maybe piracy wasn't the smartest life choice.

I'm slightly jealous of my male crewmates, already hanging from the gallows at this little port I will never learn the name of. When we were captured by the Spanish fleet they knew they were doomed, but had told me to feel hope. The soldiers would never lower themselves to killing a lady, they told me. Well, instead they've chosen to let the ocean do it for them.

Tied to a post under the pier, I can see the tide coming in. Crabs scuttle curiously over my feet as the warm water slowly laps against my shins, then my knees. I strain against the ropes to no avail; the soldiers tied me tightly. I reminded myself that, under most circumstances, I would have found this very hot. I try to concentrate on this though. I calm down.
The waves are drenching the top of my corset by the time the sun finally dips behind the horizon. The sky glows pink, then faded into ash as the stars began glimmering far above me. The water cools. Crickets chirp off in the distance. This isn't the worst way to die.

Panic erupts as the water touched my face. I begin to scream, thrash, sob uncontrollably. The waves lap up against my mouth and I accidentally swallow a mouthful of water, leaving behind the taste of salt and little animals. I turn my face to the dark wood and darker sky above me, and for a moment all I can see is beautiful. A wave covers my entire face, leaving me coughing and screaming. Another crashes over me, and another, the intervals between shorter every time, until the sky is covered by a layer of black liquid. I scream and scream but no one comes to help. I relax. It's okay, everything will be okay. I succumbed to my fate.

The sand is cold and clammy around my bare feet. My hair and clothes are dampened from the mist, rising from the ocean so I can't tell when the air stops and the water begins. I can't see more than 10 meters out into this freezing fog, nothing to promise safety or rescue. The sun has disappeared, and light is fading. Soon, my predicament will be more severe.

I walk backwards, away from the ocean, towards the trees that mark the middle of my island. It isn't very big. The island, I mean. Maybe about 125 meters in diameter, although it's more crescent-shaped than circular. There's a cave I've been calling home for the past few hours, some trees, and a handful of animals I'm praying are herbivores. A freshwater spring falling into a pool just large enough for bathing had been my one stroke of fortune, although I'm beginning to regret that bath as my body struggles to warm my wet skin. My hair is soaking heat from my head, as are my feet. I need to get warm, and fast.

I try to stumble back towards my shelter, but my feet and hands are so cold that they're less responsive, and I feel every twig I step on hurt me. I trip over a rock, invisible in this growing, misty fog, and plummet to the earth. My chin hits the ground, and I bite my tongue so hard that warm blood fills my mouth. My eyes widen and water from pain. I spit the blood on my fingers, hoping they'll thaw, but they feel next to nithing. It's becoming yet darker, and I'm surprised at how quickly cold sets in. Pushing myself up, I stumble on, trying to reach a destination that may very well be my tomb.