Areal was the young brother of a fisherman. He was never allowed to go with him on his trips to sea and now he had the chance to finally enjoy the ocean air and the quiet scenery. Little did he know that on this particular trip, nothing but death would come out of the water.

It was Friday, the 13th. At the time of this story, no one in the village that Areal lived in knew about the unlucky day. Areal was happy; today was the day that his brother set out on the sea with him. They were to go with a few others of his brother's age and an old man.

They started packing up everything they would need on the wooden (but durable) boat. It wasn't a big fishing vessel like the ones you would see at the beach. No, it was a small little wooden boat that had paddles and no motors to help you.

They had brought some sandwiches to sate their hunger whenever they wished, their fishing poles as using a net when the fish were so deep under the water was useless, bait to reel the greedy fish in towards the poles and a book to pass the time while waiting for a juicy fish to inevitably hook itself onto the pole.

At 10 a.m, the brothers, the other fishermen and the old one gathered at the beach near the village where their small wooden boat waited. They entered their boat and set off for their voyage....to death.