The KSP Writer’s Circle challenge of this morning was to write a piece based on 3 words taken at random (in the form of words written on stones) from a jar.
“Please God hear my prayer! Deliver me from the horrors of the ocean. And if it be thy will that I must die today; I entreat thee Lord, if I have pleased thee at all in my unworthy life, let my death at least be swift.”
The weather had been bright when we left port. The sun shined gently over the new polished bow of the boat. The breeze was soft & cool on my face, but more than sufficient for our skilled captain to fill the sails and skip the “Lucy Darling” through the harbour & out onto the ocean waves.
I was new to sailing but how could anyone not love the ocean; its blues and greens calmed the mind & enchanted the soul. I felt a profound joy, inexpressible!
James’ face was tight with effort as he hauled the ropes that moved our sails to take full advantage of the light breeze; that could not seem to settle on a single direction.
Edgar’s face was bland but I could tell from his semi closed eyes that he was lost in bliss.
Oh that a trip that started so wonderfully should come to this.
Grey clouds appeared on the horizon and the wind picked up. From a breeze to a full blow in minutes. The ashen clouds gave an eerie half-light effect to everything. Looking around there was a dream-like unreality to the world.
Then, suddenly the winds dropped and we were becalmed. I was so glad to have some time to recover myself; realising I had been quivering and gripping the rail.
But James’ face darkened more; he rushed from rope to rope & ordered Edgar to take the wheel. He screamed to me to take shelter. But why?
The storm hit before I could even move. Suddenly we were fighting for our lives against wind and wave. The ocean was no longer benign but an enemy bent on our destruction.
Edgar couldn’t hold the wheel. As James ran to help him he handed me a rope & commanded me to “Hold fast!”
Somewhere in the tempest, with the noise and the water thudding against me as if I was being stoned, I felt the rope start to slip. I gripped tighter & tighter as the rope bit into my hands. But I felt like I was clinging to water. I lost my hold on the rope.
The three words were “Please”, “Ocean” & “Pow”. The pictures are from Pixabay.
I have no emotional attachment to this work and would really appreciate any tips to help me develop my writing.