I Found A Journal From Someone Who Worked On An Oil Rig And The Entries Are Freakishly Disturbing

I can’t see the rig anymore. There’s a giant column of smoke to the southeast, but no telling if the rig’s still above water from this far away. I don’t think I care. It’s just a giant fucking watery tomb for all those men, now. I’ve got a couple decent injuries, and I’m tired, but I’m alive. Got a little water. Got a little food. Got my fucking journal and pencil. Could be worse. Don’t want to jinx myself. The clouds are starting to clear up, and I can see the light of the sun starting to poke up on the horizon. I’m still in the shipping lanes, and the rig is due for a ship to pick up our yields. I might just get lucky. Until then, I’m just going to watch this sunrise happen. Try not to fall asleep, no matter how tired I am. And if I do fall asleep… I just hope I don’t have that fucking dream again. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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