Daily Short Stories from The Penned Sleuth

The motion was sickening, but after such a long time you get over it. The rowboat slowly drifted in a direction that we didn't know. It was depressingly slow, but we had little choice. We used to argue whether we were going North or South. It was a confusing and pointless argument. Losing the oars to a storm and forced to see the same flat blue ocean drives even the angriest people to silence.