One day, a fierce storm came out of nowhere.
Waves crashed against the side of the ship, rattling the sailors, the wind
pushed the ship, men went overboard, the wind pulled the ship, people toppled
over the edge. The people that remained were caught in the strong, icy rain.
The sails tore and waved in the wind and rain.
Then there was the thunder and lightening.
Furious flashes of light and bellowing thunder.
The captain fought to keep the ship
upright. The storm was clearing when he thought he had won his battle with the
sea. He was wrong. As he turned to inspect the ship, to search for his
remaining crew, a large wave rolled up to the ship - it practically crawled
towards it, slow yet threatening, like a jaguar stalking its prey. But the most
unbearable thing was that even if the captain had seen this wave approaching,
he wouldn’t have been able to escape it.
The wave towered above the once great ship,
suspended in mid-air. Just as the captain began to turn his head, the terrible
wave crashed upon the ship, swallowing it whole.
Now I sit in a glass cabinet in a museum
with many other models of impressive boats and ships. People barely do so much
as glance at me from time to time, and even if they do they’ll never know the
story of the grand ship I represent.
The other ships that accompany me call me
names such as ‘insignificant’ and ‘pretty’, which may not come across as an
insult, but believe me, it is!
The small piece of card describing me
doesn’t say… what was it again? Ah, yes, “ornamentally carved model of war
junk” for nothing… actually… that’s an insult too, no?
by Carrie Tagg
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