“Draw me a picture,” said the woman, sliding me pencil and paper.

“Of what?”

“Draw my portrait.” She brushed her hair from her shoulders and posed in mock grandiosity.

I drew a jellyfish fighting with a human skeleton. I was impressed with my technique and wanted, momentarily, to keep the picture for myself.

“What the fuck, K,” she said, putting her clothes back on. “Not really what I had in mind.”

I wanted to point out the imperfections in my sketch. I wanted to tell her that because the ship was swaying rather violently, my lines here, here, and here were imperfect.

“It’s just as well,” she bellowed. “A storm is coming.” She knocked me over as she left my cabin, letting my picture float to the ground.

Against my knee, I smoothed out the wrinkles of my discarded drawing, hoping that I might frame it after all.

Climbing to my feet, I locked eyes with the jellyfish and human skeleton outside of my porthole. I shrugged and the skeleton shrugged back.

With a bony finger the skeleton beckoned me over. “Careful,” it mouthed through the glass, “you’re next.”

A knock at my door. I already knew who it was.