Third month on the ship, fourth day not seeing the sky, and second straight day awake. I got off watch and left maneuvering walking dead, the rumbling of generators and motors the only thing keeping me awake. I had gotten used to the air stale with the smell of welded metal and lubricating oil, but I knew I shouldn't be. Shuffling down the passageways I passed other's like me, all heading towards our racks to pass out for the day and dream of days when exhaustion wasn't so familiar. Each of us smelled like sweat and grease because no deodorant could fight one hundred degree maintenance work. You learn to accept the discomforts when you're stuck in a metal box for days on end.
I reached the bulkhead of my quarters and paused. I could smell fresh air, fresh air mixed with the the reek of the shipyard, but fresh air all the same. I climbed the stairs and was greeted by the warm sunrise, blinding me for a few seconds. I welcomed the visual reset. I found a barrel to lean on and watched the start of the new day. Warm sunlight slowly bathing over me. The air felt lighter out here, and so did my soul. The salty air and the warm sunlight was everything I needed to remind myself how much better life would be once I made it out. I took one last deep breath to remember it by, and made my way back down into the ship for another day in the dark.
Biographically this piece draws heavily from my personal experiences serving on a carrier in my time in the navy, where time blurs, sleep becomes a luxury, and every day feels like a test of endurance. Being at sea strips away many of the distractions of ordinary life, forcing you to confront your physical, mental, and emotional limits. Writing this piece became a form of processing that experience for me, and the tone and imagery come from my time working long shifts and watches in the engine rooms and lower decks of a ship. Spaces defined by constant mechanical noise, heat, and the absence of natural light. The stale air, the smell of oil, and the constant vibration of machinery were all realities that shaped my day to day life. The piece reflects that sense of monotony, but also the small sacred moments of relief, like stepping topside and feeling the sunshine for the first time in days. Those brief glimpses of freedom and connection to the natural world often carried more emotional weight than anything else, and I wanted the piece to capture the duality between the claustrophobic world below deck and the rejuvenating moments in fresh air.
Historically this story is just another in the long tradition of maritime labor and life at sea, an experience that has shaped entire eras of industrial and military history. From the earliest of naval operations to modern shipyard and deployment work, sailors and engineers have accepted living in these confined environments for extended periods with the hopes that our efforts and sacrifice will be worth it. Invisible to the world but essential to it’s progress and stability. In the words of the retired USN captain Captain George Stewart, “Engineering in the navy has historically been an “out of sight-out of mind” occupation and people could not directly observe what I was doing or what contribution I was actually making.” The industrial tone of the piece echoes the lived realities of thousands of service members whose daily routines revolves around enduring these same spaces, as they work in the dark out of reach of the spotlight of the public eye.
Socially this piece explores the human cost of labor in enclosed, high pressure environments and the quiet resilience required to sustain it. It touches on the universal theme of isolation, which extends beyond ships and into any workplace where exhaustion has to become normalized. I wanted to mention the unspoken camaraderie among sailors who endure the same conditions, and how a collective understanding of hardship creates an unspoken bond. I also wanted to speak to the psychological need for balance. How we as people cling to the small, sensory experiences like fresh air or sunlight as acts of emotional survival. In that sense, the piece is a subtle social commentary on how modern work, particularly in physically and mentally demanding fields, can erode one’s connection to the outside world.
Literary I drew inspiration from works that encourage finding and enjoying the moments of beauty, no matter how small, during testing times. One work such as The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway used the physical environment as a metaphor as well as a backdrop for inner struggle, endurance, and existential reflection. I wanted readers to feel the heaviness of the air below decks and then take the breathe of relief with me as I stepped into the sunlight. The contrast between confinement and openness was the driving creative force as I wrote this piece, and the biggest challenge was finding the right balance between realistic descriptions and introspection. I didn’t want it to sound purely like a diary entry, but I also didn’t want to lose the raw authenticity of lived experience.
Artistically I drew inspiration from photography and film especially the way light can transform mood. Movies like Das Boot and Master and Commander influenced my visualization of confined spaces and the emotional release of walking into the light after living in darkness. Ultimately, this piece is about the small victories that sustain us when we are most confined. It’s a testament to finding light in the darkest spaces, a lesson I continue to carry with me both as a writer and as a person, and I hope to find ways to better elaborate and depict this as I learn to be a better writer.
Todd Fanders is a first year student at Houston City College majoring in Math, and a 5 ½ year veteran of the United States Navy.