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Rain pelted the ocean with thousands of miniscule bullets. Through the haze of the downpour, barely meters were visible to any one person. Supercharged clouds released their energy in an angry and violent flash. Each explosion illuminated the sky for a split second, the sudden rise in temperature sending a bellowing roar out to anyone close by.
Spitting out the mouthful if salt water that had caught him unawares
he would loose them to hypothermia.
It was a pointless task, more time consuming than the reward you get out; mere minutes added onto your life, more terrible minutes in the shivering cold, more terrible minutes nearly choking in the intense rain.
burnt into Joe’s retinas
Even more numbing than the thought of being baked to a crisp, superheated to five thousand times the degrees of the sun in an instant
refracting through the rain
burnt
It was impossible. Being so close to death in many ways, so close that he was practically breathing down your neck, and then to see the light.
spiffy young man
His hope bore more resemblance to a growing child wishing for superpowers, rather than a chocolate bar. There was no way that you will get it, but you can wish; there is more use trying for the latter, the chocolate bar, the sweet death he has been promised for almost seventy-five years.
When he was half way to shore and something spectacular happened.
Moving on the bigger and better things.
The platform he was standing on; the boat steadied it felt like land.
The ratty old jacket had sunken, just like his owner.
As if on queue, another flash of lightening burned into Joe’s retinas, he silently but instinctively counted the seconds until thunder: One
Even more numbing than the thought of being baked to a crisp, superheated to five thousand times the degrees of the sun in an instant, was another.
His frail ands enclosed the wooden handle, and he spent extra time making sure he was in a vice grip.
Sadly, Joe did none of these, in fact, he couldn’t even try.
His hope bore more resemblance to a growing child wishing for superpowers, rather than the much more practical chocolate bar. There was no way that he would receive freedom, but you can wish. It would be much better trying for the latter, the sweet release of death; a chocolate bar to the child, death to Joe Blogs.
What was to come; would exceed what had been.
There was only one thing to do now. Joe took off his saturated coat; it would do more harm than good now.
As the beam got closer - that formidable beam of light; signifying death for Joe – neared the small and tattered dingy, He braced himself over the side, evenly casting his weight to hold the boat steady. Mere meters separated him and the beam, when he took a last breath of air, almost all of it water through the rain.
Investigation needed on the boat, the engine chugged to life and they kept the flashlight illuminating the half submerged boat as they closed in on it.
The last few minutes he gradually realized that he was loosing feeling in his legs, should he rub them?
As if on queue, another flash of lightening burned into Joe’s retinas, he silently but instinctively counted the seconds until thunder: One
After some hurried thinking, he realised that the flashes were getting closer, the crack of thunder arriving sooner than ever.
Barley visible, a faint light was protruding through the haze; refracted in the rain’s path as it guided him to land.
He was closer to being burned, and that meant that he was closer to solid ground.
Being so close to Death in many ways, so close that he was practically breathing down your neck, and then to see the light.
His frail ands enclosed the wooden handle, and he spent extra time making sure he was in a vice grip.
The grey cloud of the task ahead lingered over him, remarkably similar to the real ones.
There was no way that he would receive freedom, but you can wish. It would be much better trying for the latter, the sweet release of death; a chocolate bar to the child, death to Joe Blogs.
He knew he would not make it, but he had no reason to believe that it was a bad thing.
Briefly contemplating his actions, Joe decided against it.
The lashing of the waves died out, the lightning faded into the background and all that existed was chasing light, concealing rain and Convict Joe Blogs.
There was only one thing to do now. Joe took off his saturated coat; it would do more harm than good now.
his precious boat that had helped hi so far,
All of this would not happen now. As the beam got closer - that formidable beam of light; signifying death for Joe – neared the small and tattered dingy, He braced himself over the side, evenly casting his weight to hold the boat steady.
Investigation needed on the boat, the engine chugged to life and they kept the flashlight illuminating the half submerged boat as they closed in on it.
Concentrate, he thought, dumping yet another bucket of water overboard, half of it splashing either[b] onto the boat again, or running down his numb and tattered body. His attempts were futile, as each time he emptied his pail, more sea-spray would assail the boat; the water level was steadily rising. If he's in a rough storm, I wouldn't expect the water level to be steadily rising. Waves would be pounding at the boat, and steady isn't exactly common.
The light was a lighthouse, a lighthouse on land; land that was being struck by lightning.
[i]I might need you after all; he addressed his rubber gumboots, stolen from a quay last minute in his hurried attempt to escape.
It’s incredible, He corrected himself, its fate.
Reaching out, he felt through the dark sloshing waters for his wooden ore. When he touched the round handle, his hands were juddering so much that they let it go.
In a back and forth motion, it would eventually cast light on his boat, his precious boat that had helped [b]him so far, from the calm waters of Papua New Guinea, through to Australia, where he had hoped his crimes would be forgotten, or overlooked at the least.
Without any need for calculations, he realised that the flashes were getting closer, the crack of thunder arriving almost instantly after the flash.
He’s right.
The light was a lighthouse, a lighthouse on land; land that was being struck by lightning.
Joe looked through the water that now layered the base of the boat. I might need you after all; he addressed his rubber gumboots, stolen from a quay last minute in his hurried attempt to escape.
It’s impossible, the thought ran through his mind. Being so close to Death in many ways, so close that he was practically breathing down Joe’s neck, and then; to see the light.
his hands were juddering so much that they let it go.
The grey cloud of the task ahead lingered over him, remarkably similar to the real ones that lurked overhead.
In a back and forth motion, it would eventually cast light on his boat, his precious boat that had helped hi so far, from the calm waters of Papua New Guinea, through to Australia, where he had hoped his crimes would be forgotten, or overlooked at the least.
The small wooden dingy rocked from the loss of cumbrance, but the miniscule movement was almost indistinguishable from the tossing and turning caused by the waves.
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