Seven Minutes at Sea

Sorry this isn't great and it has no real plot, it's a first attempt so advice would be much appreciated, thank you.

This is it, this is the end isn't it? Two years aboard and it all come down to this, i guess i always was just another set of bones to lay to rest. I heard some years ago that when you die there's seven minutes of brain activity left, that means seven minutes I have to tell my tale please. Please don't leave me before I'm done, maybe captains are meant to go down with their ships but stories aren't.

The Mapex Alter, 1989 the voyage began three years ago with the ship picking us up 0700 hours from Portsmouth on the 3rd of November the following year. I don''t remember the details so I wont go into them but we knew even before we boarded the Mapex that this would be rough waters, after all 11 women women and 309 sexist men there would definable not be fair winds or following seas.

It's now the 11th of April 1972 and I'm laying below the waves on the outskirts of the Mediterranean sea, along with my 10 female cremates and the naval officer, lieutenant Jameson, and I know they'll make up some story, say that the women we're gossiping on the bow during strong winds, that every effort was made to save us yet we brought it on ourselves ignoring our male companions advise to stay off deck. But that is not how it happened.

We joined the crew in early November, a dangerous time for men at sea but for the ocean at least it proved an easy winter, our first few months were spent filling paperwork, making coffee the kinds of jobs every newbie is given, until Lieutenant Jameson lost 7 sailors to injury. He recruited me and the women into his division with an open mind, my first day working with him was spent decrypting Morse and controlling starboard alone, I have to admit I had no idea what I was doing but never before had I felt more worthy.

Over the months we gained a lot from the Lieutenant and the men strong enough to treat us as equals, we learnt to encrypt, decry-pt, navigate manually, use our gut to combat the  and the obvious necessity such as: smoke rings and naval slag. It was different, not easy, but often people see hard as a synonym for not fun, they're wrong, we liked the challenge. Finally being allowed to have a chance to prove ourselves was the reason we were there but actually being able to do it was something we'd been taught our whole lives was unimaginable.

Often the people like-minded to those who taught us such things outweighed the thrill of proving them wrong, the crew-members were tyrants, abusive and unequal to us in every way. On a ship of 309 men against us there wasn't a room, a platform, a watchtower or a cannon trigger we could hide behind to escape the onslaught. So we didn't, I learnt a lot aboard the Mapex, more important than decryption or blowing smoke I learnt that regardless of the abuse, the treatment or plain prejudice against us, we were able.

And that's how it was the story goes, complete with its ups and downs like the seas upon which we traveled. Until now.

Now where the oceans bed is where we will sleep. Cocooned in our blankets and tucked in with rope, I guess the men grew tired of being proven wrong.  They'll call these watery graves but you know now murder may be more fitting. I've gained a great respect for this water, I do not think of it as a terrible place or way to die, water runs on forever after all. Now those seven minutes are coming to an end and the salt that Christens our lungs is making it's home, please know I've learnt to be okay with the small piece of sky I was given and the home I have found. Here I must change course of this tale for a whole ocean awaits me.

F.I.N                   

Lee