Two adventurers aboard a cargo steamer experience an ominous journey, encountering a disappearance and unraveling dark secrets. Write about it.
I wake to a luminous shell-pink sky. You raise your head and look around, startled, trying to get your bearings. I point to Komodo Island, just visible in the dawn light. The sea is calm-silver-blue, with a pink sheen.


We're aboard a grumbling old steamer carrying cargo from Timor to Bali. Its rusting hull, grimy-grey superstructure, and stained smokestack are clear signs of neglect, but we're young, curious, and carefree; our vision is rose-tinted.


We pass close to a long arc of pink sand and marvel at the contrast with the clear turquoise water. The pinkness intensifies at the water's edge where tiny coral fragments wash back and forth in the tide. We're absorbed, unprepared for the news that a tourist has disappeared while exploring the island. Only his hat, camera, and a bloodstained shoe have been found.


As the tropical sun rises, we retreat to the shade. The drum of the engine lulls us to sleep. I dream of a Komodo dragon with a dripping red maw. I'm running over pink sand, and I smell its rank breath. I wake up sweating and afraid.


I try to eat lunch, but the sight of white rice, clumps of tiny pink shrimp, and red chili repulses me. You sense my distress, and we make our way to the bow to keep watch for Sumbawa, the next port of call. For the first time, I realize the lifeboats are empty — no ropes or life jackets — and I want to go home.