Not So Force Majeure Mar 22, 2010 21:25:15 GMT -5
Post by sentranicia on Mar 22, 2010 21:25:15 GMT -5
The water swashed over the wood of the huge ship, wetting the mossy material with ever brush of its fingers. The sea begged to get inside, and the barnacles and moss pushed it away. The story of one woman's life aboard that ship was recreated by this ongoing scene. She stood on the main deck of the ship, one rigid figure among the scurrying crew members, looking straight ahead, never moving, never glancing to another place.
Her long red hair flowed in the heavy wind, sea spray dampening it just enough to hold small strands to her face, but allow the rest to dance about her shoulders and hips. Her slim figure seemed almost too small to be taking the rolling surf in such stride, but she held her footing without the slightest break or movement. Her fox-like eyes scanned the harbor they were speeding through, taking in the crowds of people.
And then the captain shouted. Not really hearing his words, the woman yet pulled a heavy white sack over her shoulder, her only movement in what seemed ages to most, but mere moments to her. Finally, the ship docked to port, and people began to come up from below deck to step onto shore. Unfortunately for them, a rather intimidating figure stood in their path. Yet unmoving, the woman waited for the ship to stop completely, holding back the now silent crowd behind her. They had grown to respect her over the journey, and fear her, and now they stood far back, waiting for her to step off.
Finally, her booted foot lifted from the ground, and with speed unimaginable at a walking pace, she set off into port.