A short story

They were seated in the boat. Lying in the stern, Nick watched his
father row. As he tried to get up, he felt a jolt of pain shooting up
his arm. He looked to his right; a rusty nail missing the piece of
wood it used to attach had sliced open his skin.
A drop of blood flowed down onto his hand, onto his finger. Slowly it
dripped into the water. One, two, three drops. Drip, drip, drip into
the water. He looked over the edge of the boat. It was red. Red
everywhere. Rowing, rowing on a sea of blood. A faceless monster
jumped out, went over the boat and fell back into the water. Nick
dipped his hand inside it. It burned. Little by little it came into
the boat. Red. So much red. As it covered him, flooding his nose,
mouth, ears and eyes, he suddenly understood that he would never die.