Young Writers Society

I wrote this for a competition that I never entered. Comments would be very much apreciated!

“Better start running”, he said with an evil grin patting the shrouded cage beside him. “You’ve got a thirty second head start before I let it out.” He added teasingly. The young boy squealed with fright as he stood in front of his father. He franticly scrambled backwards but tripped and fell back into the sand. The soft grains tickling his hands, spraying his rough grey tunic with sparkles of gold.

“Now, now don’t be silly,” the father chided softly, “I was only joking! There’s nothing in there yet!” The man lifted the cloth off the cage to reveal an empty fishing crate made out of rough driftwood. “Now go off and play in the rock pools and see if you can’t find anything, like a crab, to put in it. Just be back here by the time I’ve finished preparing the ol’ boat, Ok?”

The boy nodded and accepted the cage from his father. He scampered off towards the rock pools, sand spraying up around him, leaving small footprints behind him.

The boy stopped suddenly at the edge of the sea and, holding the cage carefully above his head, he waded in up to his knees. He stood there for a moment; the wind blowing his hair and the sea gently tugging at his feet. He loved the sea and it was all he knew. He, his mother and his father had always sailed the sea. Making for land only ever when they needed fresh supplies; his father trading fish and sea items for food.

But suddenly the boy’s mother died. She died of a terrible illness. She could possibly have been saved, except so far out to sea and so far from medical help she died. Yet the boy and his father still sailed the seas like they always had, the boy’s father saying, “Your mother’s forever sailing the sea now son, on the wings of an albatross.”

The young boy sighed at such sorrowful memories and continued on his way towards the rock pools. He clambered over rocks and shimmied carefully along a precarious looking overhang and, being a slightly free spirited and carefree boy, launched himself straight into a large body of water. He searched around. Looking under rocks and poking through sea weed. The little boy loved to dip his feet into the water and watch the small fish dart away from, to them, tidal waves!

The boy jumped from rock to rock, searching for anything interesting, when suddenly he slipped. He lost his balance and tumbled straight into a deep rock pool, cutting his hands on the many barnacles. He would have been fine about it, being an adventurous boy and used to scratches. But he dropped his crate and it shattered into tiny fragments.

He looked around in despair looking for something to fix it with; he realised it was impossible and, holding back tears, started to sullenly trudge back towards his father’s boat; nursing his cut hands.

***

The waves crashed against the side of the boat, sending white froth cascading up into the air. The young boy and his father were out at sea, in the middle of a raging tempest. They’d been in many storms before and normally felt quite safe in one. But never one quite as fierce as this!

The raucous roar of the winds and the constant pummelling of the waves proved too much for the youth’s nerves and he dived under a net like a startled rabbit.

The boy’s father was desperately trying to steady the boat but his efforts were to no avail as the waves constantly buffeted the boat with enormous force.

As one particularly large wave slammed into the boat; the father fell from the mast and landed on his arm, on the railing, breaking it. He cried out in agony. He tried to pull himself up, but failed. He called out to his son... but the boy wouldn’t answer from fright.

Just then a ferocious roar was emitted from the sea. A great torrent of water suddenly emerged from the ocean and rose above and beyond the boat growing and growing in size and breadth. It rose up so high until the father could hardly believe what he was seeing! He gasped as it slowly descended, like a skyscraper of water falling slowly down on an ant below.

The boat was thrown into a shadow darker than the storm clouds. The rain was cut out as the wall of water started to curve down like the letter “n”.

All of a sudden the silent serenity that came with being in the eye of the storm was broken with and almighty flash of lightning and the crack of thunder. The wave plunged down with the speed of a swooping eagle and the sharpness of a blade and obliterated the tiny boat as if it were not there.

The young boy and his father had little time to even shout let alone to get off the boat. They were swatted like flies before the wrath of the sea; the storm raging above them.

***

From the diaries of a young boy...

Where am I? Am I alive? What happened...? WHERE’S FATHER?

I woke with a start to find three heads leaning over me. I would have screamed had it not been for the pounding in my head and the fact that my vision was so blurred that I couldn’t see a thing. Two of the heads above me belonged to two young women, one with long blond locks and the other with short dark curls. The one with blonde hair seemed to be making an awfully great fuss and her long hair was tickling my face as she was gesticulating in a frenzied manner as she spoke to the third person, a man, who was a doctor and who had a very long nose and greasy hair. He was holding a strange metal device (That I now know was called a stethoscope.) and he was pressing it against my chest. It was very cold.

The blonde one (who I learnt was called Bessy.) was still making a very fuss and the women with dark hair (who I also learnt was called Victoria.) spoke sharply in a very cultured voice and commanded her to be silent so that the doctor (Dr. Marley.) could concentrate.

Bessy held her tongue, curtsied and apologised.

FATHER! Then suddenly all came back to me! In a stampede of memory I remembered it, the storm, and the boat and then... FATHER! I strained to sit up but Victoria shook her head deprecatingly at me. Then Dr. Marley held a firm hand on my shoulder and expressed that I should “Rest,” and “Sit back down.” I obliged. But at once blurted out: “Where is my father? Where is he, is he all right?” I seem to remember, from the help of Bessy, that I was still half delirious at this stage. Bessy said that I sounded like one of the raving mad drunkards, outside the grounds, at the roadside inn. Got to go! Victoria’s calling me to do the dishes! Bessy said it didn’t matter if I finish this diary another time...