Down

You are on a boat, rotting in the shallow-but-stinking bilgewater in the bottom, tied hand and foot, going up a river without end. And no, you don’t have a paddle. The flies and mosquitoes leave you swollen and red, skin cracking and ulcerating. You can see your disintegration reflected on the face of the girl in the bow. Each time she leans forward to swat away the insects, it takes her more to overcome her disgust. Your insides have eaten themselves from hunger and your head slowly, slowly breaks into blazing fragments.
And the river has no end.