I haven’t left my cabin for nine hours, now.
The shadows have grown longer and longer at the portholes, and the sun has set. Every time I pluck up the courage to leave my cabin, I hear a scream, or some other sign that the game has begun in earnest, and I can’t go out there. There were gunshots earlier. I’m pretty sure my umbrella will offer no effective defence against a bullet, no matter how artistically I wave it.
So much for our group’s conscientious solidarity – we have the heart and soul of beasts.
Sisyphus, this is Hell.