The Stowaways

The cabin was narrow: a dark world that smelled of wood and polish. For Silas, it was a palace of endless bounty, every corner revealing something new and wonderful. He pressed his body against the side, feeling the rhythmic vibration of the great vessel’s heart.

"Is it time to move again?" Elena whispered beside him. Her voice was a soft breath in his ear. It felt like they had been travelling for weeks; in truth, it may only have been hours. The anxiety of constantly moving and avoiding detection had exhausted Elena on the lower decks.

"Just a little longer," Silas replied. “I like it here.” Silas loved every part of the ship. Elena saw it as a necessity to escape, but nothing more. Her only focus was to stay undetected until they reached dry land.

They were an inseparable pair, two souls bound by a singular mission: to survive the Great Voyage. They were not among the dignitaries on the upper decks. They had no polished brass nameplates or velvet-lined quarters. They were the stowaways, the uninvited, the ones who lived in the margins of the blueprints.

The memories of the boarding remained vivid. It had been a chaotic, rhythmic march. Silas remembered the thunderous footsteps of the Great Ones, the massive, heavy-treaded passengers who boarded in strict, ceremonial duos.

Everywhere Silas looked, the world had been divided into twos as the passengers moved up the ramp onto the great ship. Some moved slowly. Some sprinted. Some kept their heads down, not wanting to be recognised, while others puffed out their chests so that all recognised them for the kings they were.

The sound would stay with Silas the longest: the constant hum of voices competing, the cries of a predator, and the whispers of those less powerful. The smells, the sounds, and the sights had all merged into one kaleidoscope of senses that Silas would never forget. This was a voyage unlike any other.

"They think they are the only ones who matter," Elena had remarked as they sneaked onboard, tucking themselves into a corner where no one would look. "They carry their pedigrees and their divine right, while we carry only our hunger, and move constantly to avoid detection"

Silas didn't care for the politics of the upper deck. He cared for the world around him. The ship was a marvel of engineering - massive, sprawling, and built with a singular purpose.

He had heard the passengers talking in the echoes of the vents. They spoke of a new world, a "Reset," and the cleansing of the old ways. "If the world is being reborn," Silas muttered, "then it needs a foundation. And we are simply... refining it. We are as important to the new world as any of those on the upper deck." It was clear from her expression that Elena did not agree.

Above them, the Great Ones were fed regularly with food that could only be dreamed of. Down in the depths, Silas and Elena found themselves getting a bite to eat wherever they could. They slid past the other occupants when no one was looking, finding even the slightest morsel to fulfil their hunger.

They became the masters of unclean corners. They watched for gaps where they could hide and fill their stomachs with food that no one else considered edible. They stayed hidden until they satisfied their hunger and their stomachs had stopped rumbling. Silas would then want to go and stare at the other occupants, but Elena preferred to stay hidden.

They were not the only ones sneaking around corners. Occasionally, they would catch a glimpse of another couple hiding out of the way, unnoticed by the top-deck passengers or those who served this great ship.

"We are the forgotten guest list," Silas joked.

"Do you think the ship will hold?" Elena asked, her eyes reflecting the dim light of a flickering lamp from the hallway. "The vibrations are changing. The weight of the water outside feels heavier."

"It’s a sturdy vessel," Silas assured her. "Built to last an eternity. Or at least until we reach dry land."

They spent their nights, or what they perceived as nights, burrowing deeper. They memorised intricate, lace-like tunnels through the heart of the ship. Anything to stop the hunger and stay alive.

It was a strange day when Silas noticed a change in the atmosphere. The frantic energy of the boarding had been replaced by a heavy, stagnant dread. The Great Ones were restless. There was a roaring noise that had not been there before, followed by a silence, as if everyone was collectively holding their breath.

The staff they glimpsed from their hold looked tired and worried as they rushed about the ship. Elena observed, “They walk as if the weight of the whole world is on their shoulders."

“There is nothing wrong,” Silas replied. “We would know if there was.”

“But we are not even on the passenger list. How would anyone know to look for us?” Elena replied.

Silas was not paying attention. He had snuggled down in a junction where three massive beams met near the very bottom of the hull. It was the keel, the spine of the entire ship. He was happy here, warm, with enough food to see him through to the end of the voyage.

"Silas, maybe we should stop," Elena whispered, feeling the timber groan under the pressure of the surrounding sea. "I can hear the water whispering on the other side. It sounds angry. Maybe we should make others aware we are here. We are too far across for them to put us out now, surely."

"Just one more tunnel, Elena. We need to reach the other side before we settle down in the New World. We must be strong for what comes next."

They moved in tandem, their tiny noise lost in the cacophony of the storm outside.

They were the ultimate survivalists, the parasites of the divine plan, thriving on the very thing meant to save the worthy.

The end didn't come with a crash or a cry. It began with a trickle. Suddenly, the rhythmic vibration of the ship’s heart skipped a beat. A high-pitched groan vibrated through the floorboards, the groan of a body being hollowed out from within.

Silas had just broken through a final, stubborn layer of resin when the texture changed. It wasn't wood anymore. It was cold. It was wet.

"Silas!" Elena cried out, as a jet of icy, dark water sprayed through their meticulously carved tunnel.

The pressure was immense. The unsinkable sanctuary, the great Ark that had carried the weight of a planet's hope, began to shudder. The wood, weakened by months of silent, uninvited feasting, could no longer hold back the abyss.

Above them, the Great Ones began to panic. The two-by-two formation broke. The Captain’s voice rose in a frantic, confused shout, wondering how the gopher wood could fail. He had followed the dimensions to the cubit; he had sealed it with pitch; he had selected only the finest.

But he had forgotten the guests he didn't invite. The world was being cleansed, indeed. But as the Ark settled into the rising deep, Silas knew one thing: no matter how big the ship, or how divine the plan, there would always be someone in the cracks, eating away at the foundation.

As the dark water rose to fill their tunnels, Silas grabbed Elena’s pincer. They weren't afraid. They were the survivors of the margins. As the great vessel began to tilt, heavy with the weight of its own purity, the two small stowaways let the current take them.

The life of a woodworm was never easy, and it appeared that neither was the end as the water took them and all the Great Ones. In the end, everyone was equal, regardless of their size or status in the kingdom.