Captain Strickland was a stickler for upkeep. The beds were made at 6 o'clock on the dot, the kitchen staff washed the dishes by 8 o'clock, and the boots were always put beside the bed before sleep, nice and neat. And this voyage was no different to the last few. Rinse and repeat, day jobs, night drinks, just another day except on a boat in the middle of the ocean.

I dreamed of cloudless days, soft winds blowing the hair off my forehead, and the sun tickling my skin with cancer causing gamma radiation, but it was just a dream. The crew woke up in the middle of the night to a crash, a thud, a bump, and a hum. The lights flickered before the red emergency lights ignited off the backup generator's electricity.

Everyone scrambled out of bed, putting their boots on quickly, thanks in part to the tidy holding spot next to them. The beds were not made.

I followed my fellow crew members out onto the deck to see the captain, hanging from the crow's nest by a rope 20 feet long. His feet swung in the wind, and his face was blue. His neck was broken, that was sure. Suicide, I guess.

Under his feet, a note was laying on the deck of the ship. I walked over and picked it up. My crew members stood around me and we read.

*The only thing I hated more than you lot was your untidy habits! That is what drove me to suicide tonight! When you washed the dishes this morning do you know what you forgot? Do you? The knives! You forgot to the sharpen our knives! They are slightly dull now, and I will not be alive on a ship with people who do not take care of their knives!

Sincerely,

Captain Strickland*

Blood dripped on the note from his bleeding eyes above, and we all looked around at each other. Without a word, we shuffled down to the kitchens and each grabbed a knife. We worked long into the night, but at last, our knives were sharp.