The cabin

The darkness is complete. No chink of light under the door, no golden glow emanating from the key-hole. Just an absence of light, of colour, of objects. The air is heavy with carbon dioxide and thick with the sour smell of sweat. The ship bucks and rolls on the short, violent waves of the North Sea, lurching in one direction and then another, but never still.

In the aft, the engine growls rhythmically, spreading it's vibrations and the smell of diesel like spiderwebs - all the way to the bow.

Two bodies lie in the cabin - entombed by the darkness, buried in the bowls of the ship, below the waterline. One is snoring, her raspy breaths barely audible above the snarl of the engine. The other shifts uncomfortably on the lumpy foam mattress, her brow beaded in sweat, trying not to drown in the waves of nausea. She squeezes her bloodshot eyes shut and tries to succumb to the rough lullaby, sung by the sea, the wind, the engine...

On deck, the gaffe sails are pulled taut by the wind - and the masts groan under the constant tug and release of pressure. The crew are huddled around the helm as the icy fingers of the gale tug at their jackets and scarves. Some gulp hot, black coffee, enjoying the acrid burn as it slides down their throats and warms their bellies.

To the west - the sky is inky black and pocked with shining stars. At water level, artificial lights bob up and down on the waves, attached to their respective ships and gas rigs. To the east, the sun is shyly making an appearance on the horizon - a pink and golden glow creeping ever upwards and outwards.

The first mate peers into the dusky distance, searching for the next channel marker - red or green. Waiting for her eyes to focus, she spots the blinking marker and adjusts the helm slightly to port to keep on course.

It's foul weather to be out in - and even with the engine cranked to full, the ship is barely making way in the headwind. She's been moving at a little over a knot for the past few hours. The first mate looks at the shadowy faces of the crew - pinched from the cold, dispirited by the hostility of the North Sea.

She hopes that dawn will bring longer waves and fairer winds, but she knows better than most that they will be at the mercy of whatever weather the new day brings.