Storm

Today I am finally cut adrift. A small old rowing boat, paint peeling and planks warped and sodden. Mooring rope trails in the water, covered in flotsam and seaweed. I am at the bottom of the wave frantically bailing water as the water crashes over the side. My bucket has holes in it and I can’t seem to gain any way against the rising tide slopping about in the bottom of the boat. I can see an island every time I reach the crest of a huge green wave. The island looks safe inland but has a rocky dangerous shore. It keeps disappearing every time I smash into the deep trough. Still frantically bailing with one hand and steering towards the distant island with another, the boat rises steeply against a sheer wall of green and blue, rising so sharply that it seems impossible that I’ll reach the other side. Blinded by the stinging cold salt, I catch the briefest glimpse of a tall tree. The boat careens into the depths, planks smash and splinter and is taken beneath the waves. I am left adrift, a small insignificant cork taken where the tides will. The island is now beyond my reach, no matter how hard I swim towards safety and warmth I am taken away. The island disappears from view and I turn to the deep dark ocean to swim to who knows where.