“I see everything,” she says, as if it was a curse. Brilliant sunshine, clear blue skies. The sea is calm. Buzzing voices. A rush of images, twirling, upside down, jolting. People in the boat, in the water, screams, life jackets, emergency whistles. Fluorescent orange. There’s no horizon any more, no sky, no up or down, only deepness and nothing to hold on to. She is filming and speaking. To him, to herself, to us, perhaps. Fuck you all! She speaks, she rages, and she films to beat being tired, being cold, the fact that help isn’t coming. To beat dying, just for something to remain.