Lost Out at Sea

Just a beginning, please critique my editing as in Grammar, Spelling and etc.

She pulled his body into a tighter hug, unconsciously. His fingers winded between her blonde strands. Her body laid restless in his arms. Skinner felt a sharp plunge in his side. So he rolled onto his stomach. The air was fresh, clean and inhaling. The rays beam through his closed lids.

His body rocked with uneasy from the left to the right. Slowly everything began rising in his stomach. It rolled around like marbles in a bowl till it seeped up to his chest. He woke with a jerk, shut eyes appearing back at him. Skinner jumped to his feet, stumbling over arms and legs.

He gasped.

His heart drubbed like a mallet; beating to tender chicken breast. His body rocked with imbalance. His arms outstretched like a man on a seven foot high tightrope- he tried to stand straight.

Water- Water! They were surrounded by bodies of it. The oxygen had buckled tight in his air pipe. His knuckles were white and cut. There was water pondering around in his shoes. Skinner didn't know where he was, who these people were or if they were alive and he sure as hell didn't want to know.

His mind carried thoughts; deep and unsolvable ones. The first one was, who was the blonde and did they totally bone each other. He winced at the thought with a croaked smile. Second one was, was he high enough to imagine himself on a boat with strangers? Skinner began pointing- counting. There was seven of them- eight if he counted himself. The boat wasn't big enough for each person to lay on, but for everyone to sleep/ lie on each other.

Skinner heaved his head over the wooden boards to glance. The woods smelt like musk and month-old sushi. The smell filled him with loathing. He didn't know where to step or whether there was enough to room to move around. So he stayed in place unconscious in his thoughts.

The gray sky clouded around the teens; each feeling the powerful icy smoke as they inhaled in their sleeps. One head fishes up from the boards with wood markings tatted on their faces to their jaw. You could tell she slept good.

Her brown hair casually blowing from off her shoulders. Skinner's eyes daggered at the girl; her eyes popping with confusion like a mad billy. Her jaw tightens and her head repeatedly bounces from left to right looking for familiar features. But nothing looks familiar to her. She sat surprisingly, starring back at Skinner as if she was looking at the man who put her on the boat. He didn't blame her though, if he woke up to a woman starring down at him. He'd assume she put him here too.

He still wanted to know about the blonde laying unconsciously beneath the brunettes legs. Skinner looked out to sea, his stomach rolling uncontrollably. His head thrust of beating fist- he was really nauseous! He forked back around to the brunette. She was pretty, small and slim. Charming hazel eyes gleaming back at him, slim, small, chapped lips and enormous breast popping out her V-neck like bags of buttered popcorn out a microwave and horrible tan lines.

Skinner wanted to sit down, but where? His stomach bubbled. He cocked his neck back and forth and rushed to the wooden walls. Leaning over, tightly gripping into the board. He could feel the bile feeling his mouth. A tangling burning sensation throughout his throat. Something surged throughout his gut and out rapidly. Unfortunately it came spewing out a buck load of something! He didn't know what into the water.

He knees a boy in the grout as he's tipped over. Seeping his knee into it like jello. The boy wakes with a grunt and his hands finding its way to hover it. Skinner doesn't bother apologizing, he's too busy worrying about the vomit getting all over him then the boy in pain.

Powerful hands grip the side of Skinners shirt with a jerk. He's lifted, his legs curled, and his arms are flopping like a salmon reeled in on a line. Skinner looks down to see cloudy blue eyes beaming through him like pantie hoes. A clean buzz cut, blonde and shaved. Biceps and a buff figure. He heaved Skinner nose to nose with him and a pot of boiling steam came fogging out his nose like a bull.

He had a menacing glare that made Skinner shake, yet almost pity the guys' try. He gave him a croaked smile and said, “I'm Skinner and you're holding onto my shirt all wrong.” The boy had Skinners T- wrapped in his balled fist from the ends. Skinner's belly in plain site. The boy stayed silent, but still had the mug look planted on his structured face.

It was strange, Skinner was never sea sick until now. His father use to own a boat off the coast of New Hampshire and he'd take his son out every weekend. Skinner's father had a big white sail that flew with the wind. Bright, bold, blue letters in italics- Mongoloid. A red banner on each end of the boat and a silver pole and a propel. Skinner never understood what that word Mongoloid meant. It was a Heir Secret his father told him. He told him that when he gets that boat, he'd know what Mongoloid would meant.

Skinner remembered his father tutoring him through the steps of sailing. He could remember his father harp about how the boat would be his one day. One day, he'd drive that boat around the world- if his mother would let him leave.

“Just let go,” Skinner yanked his T from the boys' hands. Skinner had seen bigger bullies than this one. “Don't embarrass yourself,” Skinner frowned. He was too occupied by the boy's fearless eyes he forgot he was ever sick.

“Don't touch me,” Skinner gave him a cynical bark. The boy had a steal, cold chilling voice. Very brawny and gruff one.

“But, you're touching me.” His voice stayed calm and nonthreatening unlike the boys'.

“Well, I can touch you, but you can't touch me!” He tittered.

“What if I don't want you to touch me?”

“To bad!”

“Will you quit it!” The brunette squealed. There was anger in her eyes, flaming with confusion. Skinner's hands came bouncing to his shoulder blades giving the - I surrender- look. Soon more heads popped like a daisy in the snow. Mumbles slithered from out another mouth.

“Jean leave me alone,” a girl with fiery red curls dancing to the wind's whistling song is lying on the bench alone.

“Oh- And who the hell is Jean?” The brunette bellowed. She was having a hard time taking all this in. And the red head immediately jars herself awake. Picking herself up from the seat and jumping to her feet. When she does, the boat rocks with amend. A holler roars-screech from below. Her arms outstretched, like Skinner had, and she's frozen from shock. Her eyes scan the boat with three bodies starring back at her.

Four, down below, clear blue eyes glares menacingly back at the red head. She jerks back and in goes her legs into her arms as she falls back into the bench.

“Where am I?” She screeches. She has a high pitched voice with childish pronunciations.

“Obviously this psycho put us on this boat!” The brunette pointed at Skinner.

“You'd really like a knuckle sandwich,” the blonde boy who tried picking a fight with him balls his fist. Skinner is just standing there, deciding whether to answer or just listen to them blame him for nothing. The blonde is up now, on her feet. The one person he was waiting for to wake. Skinner pushed their complaints and threats to the side and glanced to the blonde. He had to know if they had it.

“Do we know each other?” He gestured themselves.

“No-”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I'd think I would know the guy who put me on this boat.”

“No-No, I didn't put us here.” His arms outstretch in front of him and denied.