Prompt aquatic! Read 1639 times


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Prompt aquatic!
« on: September 14, 2013, 04:33:04 pm »
To celebrate this new blue site and template, write a story, any length, with an ocean theme! Must at some point contain a splash.

Go ahead and post your contributions in this thread. Get going!
« Last Edit: September 14, 2013, 05:24:27 pm by Verse »

Krystal Itzume

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Re: Prompt aquatic!
« Reply #1 on: September 14, 2013, 05:43:33 pm »
There was nothing quite as relaxing as the sea at night, with no land in sight. The Gale, as she was simply called, was perched between two skies. The eyes of the gods looked up at them, and down upon them, and the young cabin boy could hardly discern where the sky began and the sea ended.

There was no wind to disturb the water, and no ripples. They were not moving at all, and the Captain was flustered. Didymus could hear him complaining in his thunderous voice, shouting for the oars to be found. They had a deadline. Didymus was not concerned with such things as he brushed a hand back through his blond hair.

Scurrying steps as others moved behind. Someone touched his shoulder, “Diddy, get movin’!”

Didymus looked at the bearded face, “I don’t know how to row,” he answered, best blank expression on his face. There was nothing for him to clean, and the cook wasn’t calling for his help.

The hairy face scrunched up in disgust, “What good are you?” It demanded, but did not wait for an answer before going below deck to find oars that would reach down to disturb the peace.

‘Peace.’ Didymus let his sigh disturb it. He had already broken his silent reverie. The magic of the sea caught between stars was gone, and it wouldn’t be restored. The frown wouldn’t leave his face as he began instead to contemplate on mundane things, such as how he could help the Gale continue its journey. The deadline was important. The Captain was going to get a pretty gem, one they’d been looking for. In fact, Didymus wasn’t sure the Captain had ever talked about much else, or dreamed of much else.

Didymus never asked what was so special about the stupid stone, though.

His hands moved to the wooden railing and he started to push away. He frozen there, though. A pretty sound reached his ears and he leaned forward, strained to hear.

“I shoulda known.”

Didymus heard The Captain’s trembling voice, but did not register the fear or the warning. The rest of the boisterous shouting was ignored as new orders were given with great haste. Sails were to be put up. No oars in the water, but an anchor instead.

The water beneath began to move, and Didymus was finally able to discern where the sky ended as he leaned over the railing to see the beginnings of movement beneath the boat. Brows furrowed in confusion before he heard true thunder, though saw no flash of lightening. He lifted his head. That song had such a pleading note, such an encouraging note.

“Only you can help.”

What could he help? Logic went out the window. He was the only one who could help. If he strained his eyes, he convinced himself that he could see land.

His arms pulled him up onto the railing. “BOY!”


Into the water went the anchor as the boy was grabbed by the hairy-faced man and wrestled to the floor.


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Re: Prompt aquatic!
« Reply #2 on: September 14, 2013, 06:35:09 pm »
She closed her eyes and let the sound of churning water move through her, shaking her with each wave. Her cheek was hot from the sun, almost unbearable. It was burning but all she could do was sigh against that warmth and listen to the angry water.

In her mind she could see the beach, pale sand dumped over rocks and clay to create a stretch comfortable for swimmers and sun-tanners. No one likes the feel of algae coated stones beneath their feet. Brightly colored towels speckling the stretch of sand and an awkward amount of flotation devices cluttering water less than three feet deep.

There was no breeze today, only the heat of the sun and the slush of the water. She breathed in deep for that smell of summer and her face scrunched when all she got were lungs full of stale air and chemical burn.

The harsh sound of the timer made her body jerk upright from her position bent over at the waist, cheek and arms to the top of the washer machine. She blinked, one side of her face a stark red and still hazy. The laundry mat was empty. The windows full of midnight city speckled in snow. With an almost too warm exhale, she opened the lid of the machine. The water still sloshed inside, splashing up to wet her face and force a grimace. The machine hadn't spun out the water and she couldn't help but relate it to her own mind, not having spun out the summer.


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Re: Prompt aquatic!
« Reply #3 on: September 16, 2013, 11:12:24 am »
Grey water lapped at barnacle encrusted pylons, a broken down pier jutting out from one end of a desolate beach, all grey sand and shoals of foam washed up along the shoreline. The guard rail was steel, rust bubbling up through green paint that came away in big flakes, here and there a broken plank that would likely never be repaired.

At the other end of the beach was a big factory complex, a tall cluster of cement buildings roofed with corrugated steel, red and white chimney stacks billowing clouds of white into the poisonous silver sky overhead. The gaping maw of a drain pipe crept out of a sand dune near the factory, trickling a steady flow of water, green and brown streaked with a rainbow of something greasy and toxic.

Nobody fished there anymore, hadn't done in nearly a decade, not since the fish started dying and the ones that didn't were no good to eat anyway. It was a sad, lonely kind of place, somewhere people used to go to enjoy the sun, to fish away a lazy Sunday afternoon. Now, the toilet block near the parking lot was scrawled with bad graffiti, the stall doors all kicked in and the toilets smashed to pieces, not that it really mattered, the utilities had been cut off years before.

Jane hauled into the lot behind the wheel of a two door Mazda, drop top but she had the roof up, an ugly shade of blue but it was a rental so she couldn't complain. She had her hair pinned up under a black beret, matching skirt on and a crisp, white blouse with frills down the front. The heater in the car was on full bore, had a grey woolen coat on the seat beside her, a matte black semi-automatic hidden underneath, FORCE 921 F stamped across the reciever and loaded with hollow point rounds.

There was another car parked there, beside the rusting skeleton of a shopping trolley, a big Lincoln with tinted windows, midnight blue and the driver's side door left open. She parked nearby, climbed out of the car, shrugged the coat on to keep out the cold, slipped on a pair of black leather gloves before she took the pistol. The chill bit through her coat, cut like a knife, right down to her skin, sent a shiver through her but she ignored it.

Checked the car first, nudged the door open with her boot, ankle height in buttery black leather, pointed toe capped with polished silver. Gun at the ready, she peered inside, plush leather interior and it smelled like cigarette smoke, but it was cold inside and the engine wasn't popping and ticking as it cooled down, like it had been parked there for a while.

That's when she spotted the figure at the end of the pier.

Leaning against the railing, silhouetted against the ocean, cigarette in hand and gazing out at the pale line where sea met sky, watercolour in shades of grey. That was her man, had to have heard her coming, but he didn't seem interested.

She approached slowly, gun at her side, finger taut against the trigger. Her boots beat against rough wooden planks, sand beneath her turning to white water, sound of waves breaking against the shore, shrill cry of gulls wheeling overhead.

"Mr. Yamamoto." She said, stood behind the man at the end of the pier, a sad figure up close.

He had broad shoulders but they were sunken, shot a glance over his shoulder and she caught tired grey eyes, regarded her for a moment and then he was staring out to sea again. He was wearing an expensive suit, something broad shouldered and British, navy coloured herringbone and polished Oxfords.

He fished a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket, Jane going tense for a moment, but it passed. Struggled to light one with a brushed chrome zippo, long pull and eyes turned skyward, shoulders heaving as he blew a plume of smoke into the wind.

"You know, my boss used to tell me that the souls of those who had nobody to tend their graves would take refuge at sea." His words came out slowly, deliberately, something like nostalgia behind the resignation in his tone.

Jane raised her gun, drew a bead on the back of Mr. Yamamoto's head, her coat ruffled by a stiff breeze blowing in off the water. A harsh, chemical smell came with it, faint behind the smell of salt spray.

"Ours is not to question what comes after death." Jane told him, saw Mr. Yamamoto shake his head slowly, take another deep pull on his cigarette.

"Perhaps not, but don't you think it'd be nice to know?" He turned to face her, brows arched and hands thrown up to his sides.

Jane sucked her tounge thoughtfully, felt like a long time passed, the kind of moment where everything stood still. She turned the question over in her head, Mr. Yamamoto's cigarette still burning, his eyes fixed on hers from the wrong end of the Italian semi-automatic.

"Sometimes." She said, simply.

Her gloved finger gently tugged on the trigger, creak of new leather just before the hammer came down, pistol's bark echoing across the water, lost behind the pounding surf. Mr. Yamamoto's head jerked back, thumb sized hole in his forehead and he staggered back against the guard rail, fell in an awkward heap.

His cigarette hit the pier, blew past Jane, standing over the body and she pumped the rest of the magazine into his chest, brass clattering to the floor beside her feet. Mr. Yamamoto was no more, money in the bank for Jane and an unsettling question to mull over on the drive back to the airport.

"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future." Jane told herself, barely a whisper as she walked over to the guard rail, cocked her arm and threw the gun as hard as she could.

It sailed in a long arc, turning end over end, until it disappeared with a splash atop the crest of a wave that was just starting to break. Then she looked down at what was left of Mr. Yamamoto, his eyes still half open but all glazed over, dark red blood oozing from the hole in his head and his shirt soaked through with bright crimson.

"I should have killed you the moment I got here." She said to the corpse, crouched down beside it, used the tips of her fingers to pull it's eyelids shut.

Standing up, Jane took off a glove and  pulled a cigarette packet from inside her coat, Marlboro Reds. She lit one with a polished brass Zippo, cupped a hand in front of her face to shield the warm orange flame from the wind, snapped the lighter shut and dropped it back in her pocket. She left, not sorry for what she'd done but a little sad at the thought of lonesome spirits wandering at sea.
« Last Edit: September 16, 2013, 01:18:57 pm by wintermute. »


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Re: Prompt aquatic!
« Reply #4 on: September 26, 2013, 08:27:32 am »
By the ocean side the mist was lingering and the light of the newly broken day had a hard time shining through. Emma wrapped her scarf around her neck a bit tighter and felt the warmth of her stockings underneath her skirt. It was rare for her to be outside this early, but for some unknown reason the waves had called her today. The air was crisp and fresh with the regular salty scent. After a walk long enough to raise her temperature she arrived at the pier. Walking out, hearing the clicks of her new boots on the hard wood, she felt content. Stopping at the very end, she placed her gloved hands on the railing and looked down. The waves splashed against the large beams. Looking back she could no longer see the shore.