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Survivors!

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Nin
Post subject: Survivors!
Posted: Thu 31 Mar , 2005 1:19 pm
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First post for list of survivors to be edited when necessary....

Last edited by Nin on Thu 31 Mar , 2005 1:23 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Nin
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Posted: Thu 31 Mar , 2005 1:22 pm
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It was a fracassing noise, going through the entire ship, and Nigel felt the walls of his tiny wooden cabin shaking. He lept from his sleeping place – not that he had been sleeping, it was impossible in the comings and goings of the waves, the roaring sound of the sea and the howling wind all around them. The five other persons in their little cabin stared at him, each of them clutched to his blanket with wide open eyes. But he only saw Moira’s eyes – they held him as if he could calm the storm by his own will. Moira… his wife. All her fear seemed to be fixed in that glance, all the trust she had in him, all the hopes they had taken on their ship. But he did not have the power to help her.

“I will go upstairs and look” he mumbled in a desperate effort. “Maybe some of the sailors need prayers…” Maybe your wife needs your prayers said a tiny little voice inside him, but he could not face her eyes fixed like that on him, when he could not help her. It was his task to pray for those in danger. Everybody on this ship was in danger. And all their lives could depend on the sailors. Tearing himself away from his wife’s open eyes, he stumbled into the aisle beside the cabin and searching with his hands to find hold on the walls, slowly progressed towards the ladder to the deck. He did not turn beck, fearing like Orpheus had done, that if he turned to see his beloved again, they might be separated forever. For this storm was, for sure their way to hell.

Nigel had thought that the storm was at its peak now, that nothing could get any worse. The ship seemed almost like a living being at moments, sliding, gliding on the waves, jumping in the air as if it had a will of its own, and even under deck every inch must be wet by now. Water was entering from all sides, and to Nigel it seemed as if the ship itself was weeping under the torture it must endure in the storm. He felt a wave hit the side and closed his eyes as if there was any way to escape the disaster. But there was none. Soaked up to his bones, finally he reached the steps leading up to the deck, the same about which Moira had so thoroughly laughed on the first day, asking him to stay always there until she had climbed up, so that he could catch her if she was falling on the steep way up.

The young vicar had thought that he had seen the inferno of the storm, while he was still under deck – but only now that he saw the outside, he knew how wrong he had been. This was more an inferno than he had ever been able to imagine. Although it had to be in the middle of the day, the sky was black. But not the black of the night, in which however dark it was, stars could still be guessed, but a furious black, like a clothing torn into pieces. Nigel could not have said, where one cloud ended, where another one started, which one was thrown around by the storm, where the rain was falling from. It was as if the earth had opened her guts and torn them out and was throwing them on their ship with a wrath he had not believed that even God himself could hold in his hands.

His first reaction was to quiver back. But then, the long trained years of praying came back to his mind. This was his duty. Courageously he tore his body up to the deck and sliding on the wet planches, holding his hand over his eyes, tried to see if someone was still living out there in the storm. Was it possible to survive such rage, to stay close to it? As another wave hit the ship, Nigel fell, and stretching out his hands to hold on something, anything, he saw all of a sudden, what had been the great noise he had heard in the cabin before coming up. The main mast of the ship was broken – still half hanging in the air, like a broken cross, which was empty without any sign of hope. The huge sails still hang on it, torn into pieces like cheap handkerchiefs, floating wet and heavy in the wind, as if someone had left shrouds on this huge cross. For a while he saw no living person.

Then he heard a voice, through the howling echoes of the storm. A man was walking towards him, rather crawling than walking, a man still wearing his uniform of a sailor, and Nigel even vaguely remembered his face. Had he been the first officer or even the captain? Here inmidst the inferno, he was just a human being, and nothing but his existence seemed miraculous.


“What are you doing here” shouted the man against the storm.

Nigel tried to answer, but first when he opened his lips it seemed only as if the storm had seeked a last possibility to enter his body and he felt a great vague of cold filling his mind and soul. In a desperate attempt to make himself understand, he raised his hands like in a prayer, to show why he had come. After a moment which seemed an eternity, he managed to howl some words into the storm:


“I am a man of God. I came to pray for you. I am a man of God.”

It seemed as if the other had understood him and tried to come to him. When the sailor had reached him, he grabbed for Nigel’s arm and tore him close to a door which almost looked like a cabin’s door – but as far as Nigel knew all passenger’s cabin were under deck and the entry was the one where had gone out. They were a little bit sheltered there, if anything could be shelter under those circumstances, and even if still howling they could hear each other.

“I came to pray for the men. Are they still alive?”

“We have lost some to the sea, and most are trying to keep the other mast fixed, when we saw you. We feared the breaking mast might have entered the cabins.”

“No, the people in the cabins are alive and unharmed, but frightened beyond death. Will we survive this storm?”

The sailor did not answer immediately, a roar from inside the structure of the boat had captured his attention and he was looking towards the second mast, which was starting to ply dangerously.

“The men need prayers.” He said then, abruptly. “We all need prayers.”

Suddenly, the black blanket that was the sky above them opened as if someone had torn it to pieces and in white lines of clouds, am eerie ray of sun all of a sudden enlightened the scene like a last grinning smile. And then, within seconds, the sky itself broke into pieces, and all the wrath of the world was concentrated in the one lightening hitting out of the black sky. Nigel heard the noise before he saw the impact, and the second mast coming down on them as before he even knew that the lightning had fallen. He saw the sailor screaming unable to distinguish any words. Automatically, his hands folded in this gesture, repeated so many times over the last year in seminar first, and then with his community and his lips started to mumble on their own. Was there still a God in all this fury? Would he save them?

They joined the rest of the crew – how exactly, Nigel could not say, half was he torn by the sailor who had been with him, half were the others crawling towards them, having never experienced a storm on the sea before, he had no conscious thought left, no possibility to register anything beyond the fury of the elements.

The two broken masts looked the grinning broken teeth of an old woman for him, like sinister signs of death, and he tried to gather himself in the words and gestures of prayers he had learned. The men of the crew were exchanging words, and through the mumbling Nigel heard a few.


“Lost”

“Drown”

“Broken”

No need to be a seaman to understand that it was serious. With quick gestures, the first sailor who had come towards Nigel separated the crew in two, and even if his words were lost in the howling storm, his intention was clear. Get down the life saving canoes, get the passengers up, and hurry. Hurry! He then turned to Nigel, pressing his mouth close to the vicar’s ear, shouted:

“We must get the passengers out of here. Come down with me to the cabins. Quickly!”

Nigel stared in disbelief at the man: bringing up the others in this unleashed hell? Children and women up here? Setting them out in little nutshells on the ocean of fury he had witnessed?

“Is there no other was, Sir? Is there any chance we will survive this storm?”

With dark eyes, the man stared at Nigel, hesitated a minute, shook his head – as if the former mention of hurry did not matter any more.

“If we will survive this? You said you are a man of God… you are more qualified than I am to know if we will survive this.”

He then turned his back on Nigel, rising his arm to call the other sailors to follow him, and stumbling his way over the battlefield that the deck had become, walked to the cabins. In a sudden horror of understanding, Nigel did his best to follow him.


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Jaeniver
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Posted: Sat 09 Apr , 2005 4:15 pm
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The night had progressed as each one had. First, a boring dinner with more boring persons to keep them company. Mother said she should be grateful for the company the lords and ladies gave them. But why should she, Louisa, be thankful for the dullest stories ever told by some doctor from Gloucester? Then after ten o’clock her mother would graciously excuse herself and her children to retreat to the private ness of their cabins where she would practise bible study with James before she send both of the children to bed. Louisa sighed a sigh of annoyance brought forth from boredom. Long had her mother given upon making the child read the bible before going to bed. She refused to read any passage simply saying “If God was all that mighty He surely wouldn’t have let father die like that when He knows father’s needed here. You sure can’t take care of us. ”A little laugh followed by a loud slap leaving her peachy cheeks glow red. It had been the end of her nightly readings. She shrugged and jumped off of her bed picking up her leather bound diary and neatly locked it with the tiny silver key and glanced to the lighted living quarter rolling slightly with her eyes watching her brother stutter his way through The Sermon of Mathew 5

“Blessed are the poor in spirit: …….f-for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they that mourn…”

His hazel shot up to his mother for an instant who sat listening with closed eyes .Hadn’t his aunt said something about mother mourning? He wasn’t sure but quickly continued when he saw his mother frown at the sudden silence.

“…for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the me…meek: for they s-shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after right…rightch…(a whisper from his mother) ….righteousness!: for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.
Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness'(no stutter this time. Moment of pride) sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you ( what does revile mean mom-just read James, just read), and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.”

“Well done James. Well done. Go to bed now darling. Don’t forget your prayer.” She pulled her young son to her and kissed him softly on his thick dirty blond hair.

James went off to bed pondering the sermon he had just read. He hadn’t quite understood all but enough to know it was an important lesson to know. And with that he blew out his candle on his nightstand feeling strangely safe.

Back in the living room Maria flipped through the Book for a while before she noticed her daughter leaning against the doorpost playing absentmindedly with one of her golden curls her lavender coloured gown not yet replaced with her nightgown. . “Can’t you sleep dear? “, came the tired voice of her mother. A light shake of Louisa’s head. “Have some tea. It will help.” A weary smile. This was how they communicated since day one of the funeral. A nod, a shake, a smile, a shrug. No actual words just body language. A month without any real affection or any real emotions. How could she have failed to see her daughter slip so fast away from her? Furiously Maria stared back into the Bible hoping God would suddenly give her a sign of how to continue her life but it stayed eerily quiet outside apart from the howling wind.
A ferocious storm awoke the torn family hours later with a loud bang followed by a tearing sound. Sails?

“Children!”Maria’s voice was high pitched with fear as she stumbled into the joined bedroom of her children. The sea was more ferocious now then before.“Are you alright? “ searching her way forward to the beds she collided with an oak table but gritted her teeth against the pain, the adrenaline of fear rushing through her veins. Get the children and get to safety! A loud banging on the cabin door made her stop dead in her tracks and swiftly turned around facing the door

“Lady Dirby it’s I, the doctor! Are you alright!”

Maria let out a sigh of relief. Doctor Bennham had come to check up on them. She began to shuffle towards the door “Get up out of bed quickly! Get dressed!” and without protest both children did what they were told.

“Sir Brennham, thank heavens you are till up!” She motioned him to enter.
“Right quite right my lady. Ghastly weather isn’t it. Right out nasty it is.” Drawing her shawl closer over her nightgown Maria nodded gravely. “Is it a dangerous storm you recon? “
“What? This weather lady? Nay, nay not half as dangerous as the weather you can get in the tropics! “and he laughed jovially holding his enormous belly as if afraid his belt would snap weight the weight it had to carry. Silently both James and Louisa had entered and stared at the doctor. “Ah children! All dressed are you then. I dare to bet half my fortune on it that you shall be back in bed and fast asleep within the hour. Now let’s see what all this racket is about .If you’ll follow me ladies and gent.” And the procession moved out the door and into the hallway. The rocking of the ship was getting worse as they got to the dining deck and walked straight into the arms of one of the crew members who shouted they had to aboard ship immediately and must follow him to the life boats to which Brennham had reacted with disbelief. “Come now good fellow. It’s just a storm no need to abandon the comfort of our own huts just for the excitement of it. “To which the crew member had shouted “Just get your upper class asses to one of the boats! You’ll die if you don’t or if you know how to sail with a ship without masts I am sure the captain would love to hear it!” and the crewmember had hurried past them towards the hallway to warn the other passengers.

Maria stood terrified clutching her soft sobbing son to her chest and a frozen Louisa could but blink at the just received information. “Well let’s get moving I suggest.” mumbled Brennham who got a furious look from Louisa who stomped off to the nearest door to the main deck, her mother quickly following her daughter praying under her breath they would make it.

On deck Louisa froze once more. Her diary! How could she have left her precious book! She turned round on her heels and ran back to the door Her mother looking terrified and screamed:

“Louisa! Get back here immediately! Louisa!!! No! I demand you get back her this instant!”
Seeing her daughter run back to the source of danger Maria thought she’d faint right there on deck if James hadn’t been sobbing in her chest. Nervously she rocked him as if her were a baby.

Louisa ran as fast as her legs could carry her down the stairs and into the corridor where now panic has erupted. Couples clutching their luggage closely to them while looking into the corridor as if waiting for a rescue boat to come pick them up at the spot. Louisa shook her head at their stupidity but had more important things on her mind then their safety. Her diary. Since day one she was devoted to the little book and would write what she could not say.

Louisa clang to the doorknob of their cabin to take a few deep breaths. A cracking sound coming from upstairs made Louisa’s heart jump and she ran inside. Her hands held in front of her she found her bedroom and the drawer in which she had hidden her diary. She grabbed it and managed just in the to jump aside for the little nightstand toppled over on to the floor unconsciously panting she ran back out the dark cabin and ran back into corridor and up the stairs. The sound became louder and all the more menacing. Louisa looked back to the confused faces of the people in the hallway. At that very moment she averted her eyes she ran straight into a person’s back. Both Louisa and the man fell face down to the floor. Trapped in her lavender dress Louisa tried to get back on her feet and off the man’s back as quickly as she could noticing the wrinkles she made in the man’s expensive suit all the while she apologised.

_________________

So give me your forever.
Please your forever.
Not a day less will do
From you

~Other half of the Menacing Glare Duo~ partner-in-crime out to confuse the world!


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Turelie Lurea
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Posted: Sat 09 Apr , 2005 10:54 pm
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Below deck...far,far below...

How many months had it been since they had seen the sun?

Anya's head spun and her stomach threatened another bout of illness. Days, weeks, months had gone by and she was oblivious to them. In the bowels of the ship, no cheerful rays danced upon the rotting corridor where common crooks and thieves were chained. The sour stench of densely-packed, sweat-drenched bodies coupled with human waste was a poisonous perfume that invaded her nose, though this did not curdle her daily ration of skilly (similar to porridge) and a small, dense roll that hurt even her strong teeth. Ever since the ship left port, every day was a roiling, nauseating experience for the 15-year-old girl who was only barely showing signs of womanhood.

Her raven hair was matted with dust and sea-salt, and was considerably longer than it had been when she and Peter first boarded the unsteady vessel. Oh, to walk on solid ground again, never bouncing to and fro, she moaned, her olivine eyes rolling back into her head. She spat upon the greasy planks, feeling the bile rising again in the back of her throat. In a way, she was grateful for this illness, for it kept her gaunt and unlikely to grow the roundness that betrayed her sex.

As a boy, she would be safe, for the sailors on this ship were fond of the female convicts only. Each night, several of the sailors would come down into the gloom and acrid stench and pick the loveliest of the women, unchaining them and drunkenly whispering lies of taking them away from the horrors of their punishment. If the women screamed, the sailors were allowed to hit or even kill them (the severity depended upon how rough the sailor was), so most of them went with the men who used them, defeated. After a time, some of the weaker ones would scream, knowing fully well that it meant their death and they embraced the end with a smile. The body would be left on the planks as a reminder to those who would do the same.

Anya yanked her chain slightly, testing its hold in the wood. She lay down upon her lice-ridden cot and peered through the wooden slats that separated her cell from that of Peter.

"Peter, when do you think we will reach land? Perhaps there will be natives who will help us to escape?" Anya whispered in their native tongue.

"You know nothing of Australia, my young friend. Perhaps the natives are cannibals?" He replied scornfully, angry that his earlier attempt to steal another man's roll had only earned him a lashing and the removal of his own food. Peter had grown bitter on the journey, frustrated by Anya's endless questions that he could not answer. He had always had an answer for everything, but now... now he knew nothing except the endless rocking and a gnawing hunger in his belly that he had not felt since they left their village in northern Russia.

"Seven years... do you really think they will keep us there for so long? Some of the convicts said that others have earned their freedom in less time or earned pardons." She picked at a scab on her knee that was from her struggle with her jailers in an effort to see the sun and to smell the salty air above her. Splinters had caused infection, but she picked around them and dug out the larger pieces before the wound could close around them again.

"Stop picking at that, Alexei. You'll only anger your wound more. Do you want to lose your leg like Old Bill?" Peter kicked the wooden slats between them.

Just as Anya was about to give her retort about how Peter doesn't know everything, a crashing came from above.

"They is having a damned good time up there, ain't they? Soundin' like they is coming through the floorboards," Old Bill grumbled and shook his stump of a right leg angrily, baring all two of his teeth left from the scurvy.

"I don't think it's a party, old man. Haven't you noticed the more reelin' we've been doin' lately? I bet it's a storm and the riggin's all gone to hell. God save our wretched souls." Young Bill looked heavenward and made the sign of the cross.

Another crash above them.

Everyone was so distracted by what was going on above them that they lost track of what was happening below. Suddenly, a fiery jolt rushed through Anya as she realized that her scabby knee was underwater! Filth that normally clung, stinking, to the planks below now floated and swirled sickeningly as it flowed through the wooden slats of the cells. She stood on her cot and rattled the chains that allowed her to move around her small cell only.

The door above them rattled with the howling of the wind and suddenly flung open, dropping more precipitation into an already dangerous situation. One of the cruelest sailors, the one who was best known for picking the most beautiful of the women once each month and slashing her throat when he had tired of her, flew down the slippery stairs and cursed as he descended into the putrid fluid.

"Remove the manacles from the wall for the strongest and youngest of the bunch," he roared at the deputies who had followed with pale faces, yet his voice was barely a shivering whisper above the unholy howling above him. "They will be needed. Leave the old, the weak, and the hideous. The beautiful women are to be taken to my chambers, we shall be needing them as well." He winked grotesquely at the women, wretched creatures who shuddered, each wondering if it had been worth it to steal that coat or pair of shoes that had led them down this path.

_________________

Your Local Meteorologist (I have two degrees now! :D) :sunny:


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Guruthostirn
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Posted: Tue 07 Jun , 2005 4:28 pm
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Beneath his feet Morgan could feel the ship straining. He'd spent over half his life on ships and never had he experienced a storm such as this one. It was beyond belief, and beyond this ship. Morgan had sailed long enough to know the limits of a sailing ship, and this one was stretched beyond its weakened state.

Hearing the wood creak Morgan wished the captain had insisted on a new ship. At port the carpenters had assessed the ship and declared it needed work. But no, the shipping line would not allow it. And now the old, decrepit ship was being sent through hell. Not that any other ship would survive; but they would have survived longer.

A great crack shook the ship. It would be going down soon. Morgan ran as fast as he could, trusting his sea legs to keep him upright. Every moment he'd open a cabin door, shouting to the frightened occupants to go to the upper deck. The sailor never paid a moment to the thought that he may be sending them to their deaths; they would be given a chance on the surface of the ocean, instead of being pulled into the black depths within the broken shell of the ship.

Within minutes Morgan reached the bottom of the ship. It was a great swirling mass of humanity floating in the water. Morgan saw that several of the crew had already arrived, but were not freeing all of the people. It took only a second for him to spot Henry, the third mate, who'd been placed in charge of the prisoners. Everyone on the boat had heard of the way he treated them, and Morgan found some satisfaction at finally being able to get back at the man.

"All prisoners are to be released and taken to the deck!" roared out Morgan, assure of his authority as second mate.

Instantly the crew below stopped, looking at Morgan, then looking at Henry. Seeing that these were sailors that could not be counted on in a fight against Henry, Morgan quickly drew his dagger and sent it spinning into Henry's right eye.

"Now, get them moving!"

Without Henry to lead them, the sailors gave in and started taking all of the manacles off. Morgan stood and watched, glad that he'd averted a disaster in the lower hold, but wondering whether any of them would get out in time.

_________________

That crazy American Jerk...

"No stop signs, speed limits, no body's gonna slow me down..."

"You can run, but you'll die tired." -- What the archer said to the knight.


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Nin
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Posted: Tue 27 Sep , 2005 12:06 pm
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How many people were there to be saved ? In the panic on the deck it seemed to Nigel, that their line was endless… but then sometimes he could not distinguish clearly between one person and the next. The rain was falling heavily, so close it seemed almost like a blanket held in the air. Whenever he simply tried to breathe, water entered his mouth, his lungs, probably every part of his being in fact. He heard voices of sailors calling, but the howling wind made it impossible to distinguish the words.

They tried to gather the passengers at points where they could get hold of something so that the waves would no simply sweep them off the ship. But several terrified screams nevertheless betrayed that all effort for protections was not enough. Not all would survive this storm – and for the moment, it was even uncertain that any would. The water was rising in the cabins now, it was only a question of minutes before the ship would be sinking entirely… only some planks floating on the water, showing where they had been. Would anybody find them, once they had stranded somewhere – or would they all drown or die of thirst in their life-saving canoes those who had found a place in them. The stringent voice of a child could be heard through the waves of wind and salt, through the rain which kept falling like a hammer. So little humanity seemed left now in this voice, nothing but fear, pain and despair. It was like the scream of a wounded animal… fearsome and yet full of hope, of strength. Those who heard it, lifted their heads for a second, searching for the hand of the person in front of them avoiding to look at the water rising slowly. It was as if they could feel the ship getting heavier in their bones, as if it would tear them down to the darkness of the roaring sea. A scream was like a wake-up call…. We are still alive, we are not yet dead, there is still hope. Is there?

Moira was erring among the passengers. She had not seen Nigel since he had left the cabin and arriving on the deck, she could not believe he had survived the crash of the second mast. A sailor’s hand – she did not know whose, even if he was close enough to hold her, she could not see clearly through the curtain of rain – held her arm firmly, pulling her all across the planks. In her other hand, she held the grip of a lugage. Her wedding dress was in there, their Bible, some clothes, what should have been the start of their new life. She clutched to it with a desperate grip of anger, hoping that if she could save this, she could save her life. Never before had she been so frightened. “Where is my husband?â€

_________________

Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Rodia
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Posted: Sun 16 Oct , 2005 6:37 pm
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"Say! Over there. I've been trying to get a word with you all week."
"I'm dreadfully sorry, Mr. Bradley, I have not had a moment to myself since our return."
"Well, do shake my hand now that I have cornered you. Gentlemen, I must congratulate you both. Splendid work, splendid work."
"A toast...may your success encourage the Society's sponsors to assist in our further endeavours."
"Hear hear, Mr. Bradley, I should think Mr. Parkinson and myself have suffered enough discomforts that our successors may be excused from repeating the experience."
"Successors, sir! Are your own journeys over?"
"I'm afraid so, Mr. Hodges. "
"Could it be you have found those fabled paradise islands of the Pacific wanting?"
"Gentlemen, there is life and love..."
"Ah! Not wanting in love, surely!"
"Such savage love may bind a common sailor, sir, yet my own heart yearned to be home. You have of course read about my engagement in yesterday's papers?"
"We have indeed- a toast to that, sir, may you find that you have never left paradise."
"Cheers!"
"Cheers, well done!"
"And what about Mr. Parkinson? Plans?"
"Oh, I regret to say I have no such pleasing perspectives..."
"Come now, away with this false modesty. I heard some very favourable opinions from the Royal Academy. I would not be surprised if they were reconsidering your application..."


The dream shattered as the ship jolted violently, turning the darkness of the cabin upside down and waking James Parkinson before he hit the floorboards. He fumbled, gasping for air as his head and shoulder began to throb. He could hear nothing past the ringing in his ears that came from the shock of colliding with the floor- but slowly, the creak of his swinging cot pushed through, then the trickle of water from an upset glass, then at last, though it was loudest, the roaring of the storm. James closed his eyes, since he saw no better for keeping them open, and waited for the pain in his temples to dull. With his palm, he felt a lump growing, but no blood. He groped the floor for the lamp, but only cut his fingers on the shards of glass; all the oil had leaked out and the lamp was shattered. For a few moments, he lay beside it on the floor, dazed. His head began throbbing again, a dull noise inside his skull...only when it had stopped did he realise that it was the sound of someone pounding at the door of his cabin. James staggered to his feet, found the key hanging on its hook, and unlocked the door.

There was no one outside, but he could hear shouts and footsteps on the upper deck. The whole of the ship creaked menacingly, a sound that was not what he had come to be used to, and had christened in his fantasy the sound of life and blood running through the vessel's veins. This sound was a groan of agony, and the night that should be still was amok with fear. James looked round the corridor- to his right, a cabin door stood well ajar. He pushed it open and found the room deserted. He could not recall who slept there, and this distressed him for a brief moment before he threw himself at the door of the cabin on the left, and pounded on it with both fists.
"Frederic! Open the door! Fred! Wake up!" He heard the key turn in the lock and Frederic Milne's startled face appeared, long shadows cast on it by the light of a lamp, but also the previous night's late curfew.
"Are you mad, James?"
"Are you deaf and senseless, Fred? Didn't that jolt wake you up?"
"Yes, that jolt, I don't know what you did but I nearly fell out of my cot. Come to think of it...James, that wasn't you at all, was it?"
James rolled his eyes and pushed his friend back into the cabin. "I'll meet you right here in a few minutes, just long enough to get dressed. There's a great deal of running about upstairs- I think we've hit something." He slammed the door before Frederic could answer and dived back into his cabin. In the dark, he cursed, for he had trouble sorting through his trunk in search of clothes. Eventually he managed to throw on some trousers and a shirt- not bothering to look for the waistcoat, he grabbed his jacket off the chair and rushed back out. But he rushed back in immediately, to snatch up the wallet of pencils and quills that was both his livelihood and his passion. He did not think to find paper- Frederic was already outside the door, calling for him in a confused voice. Milne was dressed top to toe, waistcoat, jacket and tie, and he looked over James' incomplete attire with disapproval. But Parkinson was already running towards the stairs that led to the deck. Frederick Milne could do no better than follow him.

Up on deck, pandemonium reigned. Just as they came through the door, an officer was heading towards it.
"Is everyone out of there?" he hollered, pointing behind James and Frederic. The storm raged so loud, it was a shock to hear a voice overcome it.
"Not sure!" Frederic yelled, having in those few moments regained his wits. He made a wild gesture with his arms, and the officer understood. He shouted something about haste, and lifeboats, then turned back to his duties as Fred and James raced back below to see if anyone had been left behind. One after the other, the doors of the supernumary cabins swung open, showing empty cots and the disarray of haste. At the end of the corridor, the two paused for breath- no one was there.
"Say" panted Fred, leaning against the hull "looks like they got everyone out before we even woke up. We nearly slept right through-"
His words were cut off by a tremendous crash. The ship cried out like a wounded beast, and the floor underneath their feet rose. They stumbled, and then raced back towards the stairs, James in the lead, his jacket still in his hand and clutching within it, the leather wallet, as dear to him now as a Bible to a priest.

The horrible creak and whine of the ship grew stronger. They came out again into the wind and rain, and raced towards the lifeboats. But as Fred was helping terrified women and children board the boats, James froze, for he had looked up and seen the second mast swaying above, the thick trunk it was built of screaming in agony, and then falling, falling, and then he heard Fred call his name, but he couldn't hear the storm anymore. All went dark.

_________________

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Jaeniver
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Posted: Wed 19 Oct , 2005 2:55 pm
I can't count but I'm cute
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“Remember my name when I die.â€

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So give me your forever.
Please your forever.
Not a day less will do
From you

~Other half of the Menacing Glare Duo~ partner-in-crime out to confuse the world!


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Anya_and_Peter
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Posted: Sat 22 Oct , 2005 4:19 am
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Anya's cheer at seeing the cruel sailor's eye pierced by the second mate's blade was immediately drowned out by the creaking of the ship that seemed to be held only by a few nails now. Had she been less of a rogue, and had some manners, she would have thanked the second mate. Not many men in her experience were as just as he had been.

As one of the sailors roughly took her manacles off, she kicked him in the shin and ran up to the deck, thankful to see the sky again, even in such dire circumstances. She was immediately shocked by the cold sea spray and the whipping winds, but no less surprising was the disarray of proud peoples in soiled and drenched finery amidst scurrying sailors. She smiled, thinking that at least for now these people tasted the fear she lived with daily; it served them right!

Suddenly, she recalled Peter. Did he rush past the guards too? Where was he?

A bit of worry starting to return, she began pushing through the chaos, calling out his name, only for it to be lost to the howling wind. She ran into a man in the garb of a priest and was about to ask him if he had seen a blond boy not much older than her.

"Hey you, we need your help," the man yelled. "What?" she yelled back, unable to understand his words. A German answered him and so she went back to her search for Peter. People shoved against her as they tried to board the remaining boats and so she ended up next to the priest once more.

"So, here we go," he said to Anya, the now-frightened girl who hid as a boy.

"Go where?" She yelled. "I cannot leave without Peter!"

The man never heard her words. A wave came aboard and he was knocked down.

"No!" she screeched, holding her hands over her ears. Without hesitation, she grabbed hold of his shirt before the ocean could claim him. Here was a good man, a man of God. He should not die in such a way!

His limp form was picked up by wave that tugged as though it were claiming his body. "No! You cannot have him," she said to the wave in her native rustic Russian tongue, gritting her teeth as she tried to keep him on deck. The ship kept rocking and she was afraid that she would lose her footing with both of them falling into the turbulent waters. Years of running odd errands, escaping from the authorities, and balancing in precarious situations had primed her for this work, yet she was not strong enough to hold such a tall man on her own for long.

Just as she thought she could hold him on deck no longer, some sailors saw her struggle and helped him onto a boat. She did not know if he would regain consciousness, but at least he had a chance with others in a boat.

She turned away from one of the remaining boats to continue her search.

"No, young man. You must board now. There may be no other chance," the second mate yelled as he held her arm tightly. Stubbornly she tried to wrest it free, but he was a seasoned sailor and much bigger than her. He handed her over to another sailor who placed her into the boat with the priest and several other frightened passengers.

"Peter!" she screamed, tears mixing with the rain that pelted her face amidst the sea spray.

"You were all that I had left..." All she wanted to do was cry and cry, but this would not help her facade, even if the rain covered most of her weakness.

Knowing fully well that she would not help the situation by jumping into the churning ocean, she settled down in the boat and began to monitor the condition of the kindly priest with the plastered blondish hair.

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Little Russian Con Artists


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Nin
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Posted: Sat 22 Oct , 2005 9:58 pm
Per aspera ad astra
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The girl beside her had fallen into trance, and Moira knew that she was only moments away from it herself. Her lips mumbled something, which had been a prayer when they had entered the bark. Only now she did not know. In reality, not more than ten minutes had passed since Moira had been pushed into the little wooden boat. But it seemed to her like a lifetime. A wave swept over them, covering the entire sky with water and breaking over them. In her left hand, she still held the grip of her suitcase; her right hand was firmly holding the unconscious girl. She was facing an elderly woman with grey hair, or maybe it only seemed so through the curtain of rain. The lips of the woman were not moving any more and her face seemed frozen. Moira wanted to scream.

In this moment, the wave hit them. The bark did not resist. Moira felt nothing but water around her. From under the water, her fall had a daunting beauty… her dress rose around her like a soft cloud, lifted by a spring wind. The howls of the storm were reduced to silence and the sound of the water gurgling around her for a second seemed like music. A music calling for her. Her hand was still holding the girl’s hand, as she fell, the weight of the girl seemed to tear her down. Normally she would have sunk slowly into the water, felt the salt fill her lungs and touched the ground in the darkness where no sun ever disturbs the depth of the sea. But it was a rare storm, a weird storm, whose voice did not seem to call for Moira. Or maybe her bark had paid its due in blood to the ocean. The move of the canoe was so quick that Moira did not even have the time to understand that it had fully turned. Somehow, her suitcase remained attached to the planks. And it allowed her to pull her body back into the bark, not consciously but only like a movement of her muscles, independent from her knowing mind. Once on the planks, she kneeled and finally putting her suitcase down, put her two hands around the girl’s wrists and pulled her up too. For months, she did not remember a single of those moments.

The two were alone in the bark now, lying on the planks without any strength, not even breathing by their will, but only by their sheer reflex. Their light bark was nothing but a leaf on the ocean blown by the wind like a toy… It was an eerie, yet magic sight or would have been for someone who could have seen the entire scene. The waves roaring up and down and sending that bark around and about as if they were playing some cruel game with it, to see if it would turn again, sink or if those two women would still be there, when the ocean had overcome his fury and would be all calm again. But then would they not wake up only to die slowly, die of thirst in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by salty water which they could not drink. The two women did not know, and they could not do anything, not even pray any more. Their only chance to survive was not to stop breathing.

Moira could not know either, but her situation had just reached the same degree of hopelessness as her husbands. When the wave had touched him, Nigel’s forehead had hit the ship. His wound was lightly bleeding and his face was pale. He did not see or feel that someone was pulling him, holding him, tearing him into a bark. He did not hear the sailor’s voice. And he did not feel the moment when the rain ceased to fall. Not did hardly any of the other passengers. There was still so much water in the air that in the end the rain only made a little difference. Yet, it made all the difference. The end of the rain would mean the end of the storm, the end of the inferno. Only, it was too late, the storm had already been the end of the ship.

As the bark with Nigel and Anya was detached, Heinrich was still on the ship. And he was not the only one – several of the convicts did not have a chance to enter that last bark, a part of the crew and even some passengers were still on deck or what was left of it. Their only chance now was that this part of the wreckage would not entirely sink. That some planches would remain floating or even more that a part of the ship would remain entire. The part in which the mast had fallen was doomed as it seemed, the wooden mast had damaged the structure too much, and water was entering everywhere. Heinrich saw it, and he saw in the desperate glance of the sailor beside him that he had seen it too – but how could they, soaked, cold and frightened in the storm, half of them convicts, of whom some even still had chains, some women and children – how could they do what would have been necessary: grab axes and cut this part of the ship off? Nothing else could save them…

Maybe the powers of the sea had decided to be merciful to this group, maybe had they seen that their claim for blood would be satisfied anyway. Another wave – more than a wave, almost as if the rest of the sea rose into that wave. One of the barks was lifted by it, and even through the roars, Heinrich could hear the screams of the people in there, the screams of those who knew that they were going to die. He did not realize that he himself was screaming. There was no hope for those in the bark – but strangely enough they saved all those on the right side of the ship. As the bark fell back, it fell right on the planks of the ship. And under the impact, the only thing happened which could save those still on board – or at least a part of them. It broke the wreckage in two. And while the part on which Heinrich held desperately what had been a sailing rope, floated like a raft, he could only watch the rest sink into the water within seconds. It was as there had never been a second half of a ship, no desperate steps of those running from the wave, as if there had never men and women with the hope for a new life or with the despair to leave their home behind, or just forced to go to the Antipodes to pay their crime. All the lives were wiped out.

But he was alive. Heinrich had never felt so alive before. And he was looking around him. A young man was lying close to him, his face white and his eyes wide opened. He looked like someone rising from the dead – apparently he had not seen the wave coming. Then, Heinrich looked around. Only few other persons were with them on the rescued part of the ship. The waves were shaking them from one direction to the other. But they were not in immediate danger of sinking any more. The young man tried to say something, apparently.
“Where is Fred?â€

_________________

Nichts Schöneres unter der Sonne als unter der Sonne zu sein.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)


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Guruthostirn
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Posted: Fri 28 Oct , 2005 5:44 am
That Weird American
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Against the wind faces stared, frightened. The blinding rain struck them, but few of the occupants of the small boat still had enough sense to look away. Instead they stared out across the roiled water, looking for their fellows, seeing nothing but flying water and darkness. Numbness of body and spirit took all sensation from the passangers and crew as they rode the waves away from the wreck.

Morgan slowly drew his eyes from the dark face of the storm, and began to look around the small boat. Comprehension did not reach him, just raw images of a small boy beside an unconscious man nearby, and faint, dark silhouettes of several more people. Nothing could bring Morgan to reach out to them for the thought to tend to others was beyond him. The stress of the night had worn against him, taking away his thoughts of others. Instead Morgan's mind was set against the elements, focused on the swirling winds and waves that tossed his little ship. Controlling the boat was impossible, yet the second mate still worried about what he could not see in the darkness. A great wave against their side would flip every passenger into the depths. If they were lucky they would not swing sideways to the waves.

In a moment of lucid thought Morgan reached down and tossed the anchor out into the waves. Within seconds the swirling turns of the boat settled down, tethered by the pull of the wind. The anchor was caught only in water, but it kept the boat straight against the waves. No human could steer through such a storm, but Morgan knew the anchor would give the passangers a better chance of living.

Knowing nothing more to do Morgan turned away from the wind, hunched his shoulders, and went back to staring at his fellow survivors. They could do no more.

_________________

That crazy American Jerk...

"No stop signs, speed limits, no body's gonna slow me down..."

"You can run, but you'll die tired." -- What the archer said to the knight.


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