Skip to main content
ARRIVAL

           The boat pitched from side to side violently in the wind.  The tempest was all around and it brought with it the full force of its fury.  Rain fell in huge droplets and was whipped in all directions by powerful gusts, slapping into the face of the open sea like a glove that signified the start of a duel.
            The sea, as if in answer to the storm’s challenge, rose up.  The waves were tremendous in their height, and fell with such incredible force that the earth shook in response to the ocean’s anger at not being able to reach the storm.  The little boat managed to stay on top of the waves as they rose and crashed, but it wouldn’t last long in this primal battle between to of nature’s most powerful forces.
             Steering the boat was a single man.  He wore only a suit of linen underclothes that clung to his body from all the water.  While his hands were working, rigorously, to keep his vessel on course, his burning blue eyes never left the small, shadow of land in the distance. 
            Lightning ripped through the sky, striking the small boat’s mast.  Immediately, a blaze roared up, quickly travelling down the mast to the rest of the vessel.  The young man looked up at the sky, then out to the sea.  He watched the tempest’s rains buffet the flames with drops as thick as stones; he saw the turbulent sea water spill into the boat, completely submerging some of the flame; but all of this was to no avail.  The fire would not be satisfied until it had claimed the boat.
             “So, this island really is accursed,” the young man thought to himself as he looked down upon his suit of armor, shield and his broad sword in its scabbard; all lain side by side.  He had no time to linger, and so he quickly picked up the broad sword and strapped it to his back.  Then he made his way to the prow of the small cruiser. 
            “Nevertheless, there is work to be done,” he thought.  And with that, he dove into the tempestuous sea, the smallest hint of a smile on his face.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Kiki's Cat Cafe

INT. KIKI’S KITTY CAT CAFÉ Along the walls are a bunch of loose cushions and bean bag chairs – lots of soft stuff. Kids are running all over chasing and playing with all kinds of cats. High-top tables line the center of the room where trendy adults stand, sipping organic teas and ignoring their kids. Behind the coffee bar in the back is a 40-ish white woman with the build of a shot-putter – like from the Olympics. This is KIKI, and she watches on with a relaxed smile. A THIN WOMAN and TREVOR, her ten-year old, approach Kiki.                           THIN WOMAN                We’re done.                           TREVOR    ...

Vagrant - Part VII

        It was a brisk night.   The moon shone full and bright in the sky, drawing Van’s eyes upward as he walked next to Finnian down the cobble stone street. “Van?” Finnian’s voice drifted into his ears, as though riding the gentle breeze that was in the air. “Hm?” “You haven’t said anything since we left the coliseum.   How are you feeling?” Finnian asked. “Fine,” Van said simply.   “I just…it’s hard to believe that a year has gone by so quickly and that tomorrow, I’ll officially be a soldier.” “Do you have any regrets?”   “Not at all,” Van turned to his friend.   “Thank you Finnian, for choosing me as your brother.   For encouraging me.” “Ha, it was my pleasure my friend.   Just don’t cry.   I don’t know how to handle people who cry,” Finnian replied. “Have no fear,” Van said as he let out a small laugh.   He let his head fall as he rubbed the back of his neck.   It was tense from...
JOURNEY TO MIRANGA ISLAND         Part IV: The Merchant's Tale         The glow of the watches on the small cart suddenly dimmed.  Declan and Balric could barely make each other out while a soft, warm candle light illuminated the bed of red velvet where the pocket watch that Balric now held had previously lain.  “It looks like a small stage,” Balric thought to himself. Suddenly, three smoky and frail looking shadow figures appeared on the red velvet stage.  In the center, there was a female looking shade defined only by the curves of her form.  Flanking her on either side were two male figures, lacking any curves whatsoever.  They looked like wooden marionettes that great puppeteers would control with strings to delight children.  Yet these were different; dark shapes without features, faceless and voiceless, standing in slouched postures as they waited for the performance to begin.  The stage was set. ...