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 |  Here I go down a rabbit hole. What will I encounter? What will I write? Viva l'imagination |
PROMPT: Choose your fighter: pirate?, captain?, mere sailor? Give us a day in your life as part of the crew.  Dear Diary, er, excuse me, Ship's Log, Day 15 at sea. I'm not sure I'll ever get the hang of this constant motion. Up and down, up and down, all the time! I'm sure I heard the recruiter mention bracing sea air. All I do is brace myself in a vain attempt to prevent more battering and bruises. And why is it batten down the hatches? They aren't covered in painful marks. I think I'm developing a proper swagger though, or is it a stagger? It's impossible to traverse this ship in a straight line. I might just regret my impulsive decision to sign up for this cruise. The wiley recruiter caught me off guard after a raucous night of drinking and carousing at the pub. He lured me with promises of unlimited rum and stories of adventures experienced sailing the seven seas. He mentioned seeing the world and opportunities to pillage. I'm still not sure what that is. I haven't left this accursed boat since we left port. Did I mention that this ship bucks like a crazed wooden beast? It writhes and twists. It moans, groans, and creaks nonstop. Oh, and the noise! All day, I hear squawking from the hundreds of seagulls and my fellow sailors. The sails flap and flutter. I swear I hear chains rattling. There's nothing to see except endless ocean and the distant horizon. No one warned me about the salt and the dampness. I might have earned a nickname, Squinty Stan. Ya, I'm not a Redbeard or a Black Jack. Stanley the Sailor sounds lame. I've come to learn that I'm basically a maid. The bosses expect me to pick up after them and clean. They are such slobs. Would it kill them to pick up their own swords? No, they leave them scattered across the deck willy-nilly. Talk about a tripping hazard. Why don't they coil the ropes? Didn't their mothers teach them not to spit tobacco everywhere? Why am I the only one swilling out rum tankards? I feel unappreciated. Isn't there a pirate motto, one for all and all for one? No? Forgive me the drudgery weighs heavy upon me. My poor hands are red, raw, and chapped. I wish I could say I've swabbed my last deck. It's painful to straighten up. I believe I just may have housemaid's knee. The others laugh when they hear my cries of "ow, ow, ow." Squinty Ow Stan, that's me. This is definitely no pleasure cruise! (435 words ) |
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