Post by Thunderous on Sept 1, 2007 14:38:08 GMT -5
Here's a short story I did for school, the theme was suspense and an ambiguous ending.
The rain lashed our ship with insane fury, wind screaming in the sails as we struggled to tie them down. The sky and sea were as black as ink; somewhere beyond the impenetrable mass of stormy clouds the sun was just beginning to set. What few rays of light broke through the wall were dull and weak, giving everything a scarlet hue by which we could scarcely see more than a few yards in any direction.
“Hurry!” cried the captain, his beard and hair flying everywhere, his hat long since stolen by the wind, his long coat billowing so fiercely that it threatened to rip itself from its body and join the hurricane around them. “If the sail is torn off, we’re all dead men!” No sooner had the words left his mouth than, as the ship soared skyward, borne on a huge wave, the sail gave an almighty wrench and forsook our doomed vessel forever. Some of us watched, speechless, as it flew into the air, twisting and curling like some weird bird, like some deathly kite. It was swallowed by the red storm before a minute had passed, but long before then, the captain had regained his composure and begun issuing orders again.
“Throw all unnecessary weight overboard,” he told me, his first mate. The fierce determination and the slight edge of panic that had been in his voice moments before had left it: his voice was quiet and resolved. Indeed, I could hardly hear him over the howling gale. “If we can get rid of enough of the cargo, perhaps we can stay afloat till the storm breaks.”
“But what we will do in the middle of the ocean with no sail?” I asked tremulously.
He fixed me in his gaze, his eyes a dark and liquid brown so deep it was almost as black as the surrounding clouds. “God help us,” he said finally. He turned on his heel, limped into his cabin, and slammed the door behind him.
I inhaled deeply, knowing full well that I could quite possibly die before I had seen another hour. The salty tang of the ocean was in the wind. Had I had my wits about me, I would have known then that something was wrong, for the open sea has no smell: Only the shore smells of salt. But my mind was full of so many other things that I did not notice this detail. I faced the rest of the crew and repeated our captain’s orders in a strong, clear voice and helped the men at first, as they began to go in and out of the cargo hold, throwing great boxes and sacks into the swirling and crashing waters. But before long I found I could do no more work. My hands were shaking so badly I could not lift the weight, and my heart hammered against the inside of my chest like some fatal pagan drum, beating down the moments until a sacrifice. I felt nauseated as, alone, I started toward the mast and the crow’s nest.
What I meant to do up there, I have no idea. Some half-formed fancy of contemplating my life, of coming face to face with my destiny, had lodged itself in my mind. As I lay hold on the ropes of the rough, wet ladder, I thought not of how easy it would have been for my shaking hands to slip and for me to die a few minutes earlier than expected. At last, I pulled myself to the top and stood, silently surveying the stormy sea and the commotion below on the deck. I lifted my gaze and looked into the sky. A small gap broke the clouds, and for a moment Polaris, the North Star, smiled down at me like a heavenly guardian.
Then, suddenly, the ship was hurled into the air on the back of yet another colossal wave. It stayed up longer than I would have thought possible, flying like a great albatross before crashing down into the thunderous waves. All turned to blue, and black, and red, and sea, and sky, and noise, and chaos, and finally
darkness.
The Voyage
The rain lashed our ship with insane fury, wind screaming in the sails as we struggled to tie them down. The sky and sea were as black as ink; somewhere beyond the impenetrable mass of stormy clouds the sun was just beginning to set. What few rays of light broke through the wall were dull and weak, giving everything a scarlet hue by which we could scarcely see more than a few yards in any direction.
“Hurry!” cried the captain, his beard and hair flying everywhere, his hat long since stolen by the wind, his long coat billowing so fiercely that it threatened to rip itself from its body and join the hurricane around them. “If the sail is torn off, we’re all dead men!” No sooner had the words left his mouth than, as the ship soared skyward, borne on a huge wave, the sail gave an almighty wrench and forsook our doomed vessel forever. Some of us watched, speechless, as it flew into the air, twisting and curling like some weird bird, like some deathly kite. It was swallowed by the red storm before a minute had passed, but long before then, the captain had regained his composure and begun issuing orders again.
“Throw all unnecessary weight overboard,” he told me, his first mate. The fierce determination and the slight edge of panic that had been in his voice moments before had left it: his voice was quiet and resolved. Indeed, I could hardly hear him over the howling gale. “If we can get rid of enough of the cargo, perhaps we can stay afloat till the storm breaks.”
“But what we will do in the middle of the ocean with no sail?” I asked tremulously.
He fixed me in his gaze, his eyes a dark and liquid brown so deep it was almost as black as the surrounding clouds. “God help us,” he said finally. He turned on his heel, limped into his cabin, and slammed the door behind him.
I inhaled deeply, knowing full well that I could quite possibly die before I had seen another hour. The salty tang of the ocean was in the wind. Had I had my wits about me, I would have known then that something was wrong, for the open sea has no smell: Only the shore smells of salt. But my mind was full of so many other things that I did not notice this detail. I faced the rest of the crew and repeated our captain’s orders in a strong, clear voice and helped the men at first, as they began to go in and out of the cargo hold, throwing great boxes and sacks into the swirling and crashing waters. But before long I found I could do no more work. My hands were shaking so badly I could not lift the weight, and my heart hammered against the inside of my chest like some fatal pagan drum, beating down the moments until a sacrifice. I felt nauseated as, alone, I started toward the mast and the crow’s nest.
What I meant to do up there, I have no idea. Some half-formed fancy of contemplating my life, of coming face to face with my destiny, had lodged itself in my mind. As I lay hold on the ropes of the rough, wet ladder, I thought not of how easy it would have been for my shaking hands to slip and for me to die a few minutes earlier than expected. At last, I pulled myself to the top and stood, silently surveying the stormy sea and the commotion below on the deck. I lifted my gaze and looked into the sky. A small gap broke the clouds, and for a moment Polaris, the North Star, smiled down at me like a heavenly guardian.
Then, suddenly, the ship was hurled into the air on the back of yet another colossal wave. It stayed up longer than I would have thought possible, flying like a great albatross before crashing down into the thunderous waves. All turned to blue, and black, and red, and sea, and sky, and noise, and chaos, and finally
darkness.