Ship 8

The shipwreck seems to be moving with the memory of waves. The old wood creaks and sand blows into my eyes. 

There is no sight of the other two teens, just the girl, standing behind me humming a song. 

Rocks poke through the sand, covered in moss and rust. 

Why don’t you go inside? She says with a slight lilt in her voice. 

I take a deep breath and point my flashlight towards the gaping, rotten wound in the side of the ship. 

I step inside. 

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