Four fish, divided among thirteen hundred people.
He received a bowl of fish soup with a piece of fish the size of a thumb in it.
He could be sure that it was the most delicious fish he had ever eaten in his life, so delicious that seeing a human body would remind him of that taste.
He shook his head to clear his mind from the fantasy; he had to leave because people on the deck were starting to sharpen their knives.
The fish were gone, and they needed new bait to fish.
He hoped he wasn't the chosen one, because he couldn't die yet.
Tiptoeing back to the room, he saw forty-three vertical lines carved into the wall with a razor blade, representing that they had been trapped on the ship for forty-three days.
He picked up the blood-stained razor, just about to carve the forty-fourth mark, when the little boy on the bed noticed him coming back, opened his eyes, and asked:
"Dad, did they give out food today?"
