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Will today’s challenge have you on the deck or the shore? They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters — Psalm 107:23
I’ll start with a story …
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They had run through the night, leaving the shrouded forest behind just as dawn pinked the sky. She slid from Shi-iro’s back. He pawed the ground, snorting, muscles twitching under his foamed-flecked hide. Her hand touched at where she had hidden the bottle in her sleeve.
Still there, a last resort.
The key, dangling from twine on her neck, between her breasts. In the grimness of her flight, it gave her hope. She walked to the edge of the cliff, the sea spread out at her feet, the salt air in her nostrils.
Yes, there, on the horizon.
Sails.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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Featured image, cropped, from Pixabay
Wyldkat says: This reminded me of my favorite opera. 🙂
Senta’s love and sacrifice having finally freed the Captain, the Dutchman proudly sailed off into the golden sunset.
(not so much a story, as a coda)
Andrew says: I brought the sub to the surface at first light. We’re out of reach of their guns but clearly visible. I’ve had the crew show themselves so the British know we’re human and not a sea monster.
We’ve been tracking the explorer ship since it set sail. Everywhere they landed they found people they would consider primitive compared to themselves. It must be slowly dawning on them that we are to them as they are to those. Their reaction is going to be unpredictable.
The dinghy is ready. I’m rowing over with J, and we’re bringing fruit as a gift. And I’m wearing a sidearm. They’ll be impressed with the bullets.
Garland Twitty says: After reading “Two Years Before the Mast” for the umpteenth
time, the on-line ad “experience for yourself, life on a
19th-century sailing ship” grabbed me immediately, and I signed
on for one of the few remaining berths.
What I had not anticipated were the numbers of athletic women on
board, many of whom were already experts in the art of sailing. The weather was
gorgeous that evening we weighed anchor and set the sails.
Strains of “The Eddystone Light” from a shadowed contralto elicited
cheerful laughter. How were any of us to know who the voyage would end tragically?
Fletch says: “Pox?”
“Yes, Sir – near as I can tell.”
“We can’t risk it. Throw him to the sea. That waves take him or everyone else.”
“It’s a crap of the thing to do. Throw a living man to the sea.”
Unconsciously, the captain tugged his high-collared shirt closer around his neck.
“You’ve not seen plague. I have. As of this moment, we are at death ship. There’s pox on board. Pray to God we stop it short.”
“Aye, but there’s the rub of it. What if we throw him over and it still takes us.”
“Aye, the rub of it.”
Brian Brandt says: It was a dark and stormy night as the carriage careened down the road to the harbor and the waiting privateer. Roalf layed-to with the whip, while Rebecca (for it was, indeed, she, chastened and mildly aroused, embarking from her romantic sojourn of twenty days at the mansion) clutched at her bosom and yearned for the warm caress of Edward’s hand, which was unlikely to happen anytime soon, because Edward’s hand had been – and in fact, still was – in the door frame of the carriage.
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