" Salt "

The crew all said it was just seasickness. Told you to quit worrying over a little nausea, you’ll get used to it soon enough. You didn’t.

Two days in and you still can barely walk. Nausea led to vertigo. They gave you medicine but you couldn’t force yourself to swallow. The tablets and the pills started to dissolve on your tongue. They tasted salty.

Three days in and you haven’t left your cabin. You can hardly stand. You try to take the medicine, you try to swallow, you can’t. A nurse gets assigned to help you. She makes you drink water but you gag and spit it up. It tastes salty.

Four days in and you swear you’re losing hair. The nurse says you aren’t, says that it’s fine, but your scalp just doesn’t feel right. It stings, like salt in a wound. You still haven’t drank anything. Your throat is so dry. Your voice has already gone hoarse.

Five days in and you wake up to blood all over your pillow. The stinging is even worse, and you can feel the cracked and bleeding skin on your scalp. Only the skin. The nurse assures you it’s fine, you still have all your hair, you need to drink water. You can’t swallow at all. You try to tell the nurse, but no more words come out.

Six days in and the rest of your skin starts to crack. It all stings. Especially your joints. The nurse brings you another glass of water, warning you that if you don’t drink this time, they’ll have to use a feeding tube. You try to pick up the glass, but your fingers are too stiff to hold it properly. You spill the water on yourself. It hurts. You would scream if you could.

Seven days in and the cruise is finally over. You are hoisted into a wheelchair by the medical staff, to be sent to a hospital as soon as you get off the ship. You begin to leave your cabin. Before you even get onto the deck, you can smell the salt in the air. It burns your nostrils. The door to the deck opens. The air burns your whole body, even worse than the water. It feels salty.