Short Short Story (Please Critique)

Martin leaned over the railing, emptying the contents of his stomach into the teeming waters below. His comrade, Ryan, laughed at the sight of his gawky frame bent over retching seaward. Martin looked up and glared at the boy, wiping his mouth of vomit. "What are you laughing at?" Ryan said nothing, just slipped below deck to his hammock and diary.
April 25th, 39th day at sea.
Smell and the dark oppressive here. Writing sparingly to save candle. Fear for the safety of my order. Can't trust anyone here. Feel so isolated. Must keep on. Have a mission. God, I miss home. I miss
"Meyers!" The captain shouted from the deck, "get your ass back up here!"
Ryan grumbled his way up to where his superior... was not.
"Captain?" He called, "Captain?"
"He's sleeping." Said martin, all in dark: dark hair, dark eyes, dark mood. A farmer, his hands were calloused, and his strong, tall body threatening.
"Oh," Ryan said, squinting. God, his head hurt, "Did you call me?"
"No. You alright?" For Ryan had sat down and was gently rocking himself.
"No." He said, his eyes shut tight, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. What the hell is that noise?"
Martin dropped down beside the troubled boy, his face alarmed and mistrusting. "What noise?" He asked cautiously.
"Hey," said Ryan, his eyes open now, and too bright, "you want to see something?" Bright sparks sprung from his fingertips, and he released them with a careless gesture. They shattered on the floor into miniature beams of light. Ryan cried, and his tears were like honey running down his face.
Martin eyed him. What the hell was he trying to do? Ryan kept opening and closing his fist, waving his hands about like a madman. "I'm going to get the captain."
Ryan didn't notice, lost as he was in his reverie. He didn't notice when the captain came, wiping sleep from his eyes, or when Martin, grunting with effort, carried him downstairs to his hammock. His eyes were too filled with bursts of light.