Category: Freewriting

Just look at this image. Think about it, meditate on it.

Can you imagine being a sailor at sea two or three hundred years ago, looking off the bow and seeing this coming?

What would you feel? Excitement? Fear? Boredom?

What would you think? “Now what?” “Where’d I put that ‘batten down’ list?”

Would the wind be on your face? Would it be cool or warm? Can you hear the sails starting to pop in the wind? There is almost a rhythm to it.

The ship around you, wooden of course, creaks as the waves pick up a bit. Nothing unusual, you are as familiar with its sounds as you are your own breathing. You put your hand down on the rail to balance yourself. Is the wood rough? Or is it smooth?

The Captain starts giving order so do sailor-like stuff to the sails and ship. This is your job. You are good at it. Your life depends on your skills and of those around you. You don’t have time now to watch the clouds, to see their frightening beauty.

Look at the image again. Does your heart race?

##

Jonathan stared off into the horizon. Ahead, between the ship and England, lay a storm. This time of year, it can’t be just a simple rain. Even as he thinks it, the sails above him fluffs out, sounding out as if they were a rug being shaken by the maid. They were a month ahead of schedule and if the ship broke up in a storm, they’d all be shark shit by the time anyone realized they were late.

The breeze has reached his face now, and he smells the acrid taint of the storm. Aye, it will be a bad one. Captain Wesley calls out to the crew, barking orders to bring about the sails so they might try to run along side it. He stands at the wheel, a giant thing even in his big hands.

Jonathan grabbed the rope and swung himself up. The others un-attached the sail so he and Marcus could hoist it up. It took just a few minutes, if that long at all, but already the wind was stronger. He could feel it more up on the mast than on the deck. There’d be a cold dinner for sure now.

##

Jonathan stared off into the horizon. A storm was coming in. He tapped his laptop, waking it up from its nap, and keyed in the latest weather map. It should stay to the east, but to be safe, he’d drop the anchor.

That finished, he sent off an email to his daughter in college in Toronto and his wife at home in Old Mackinac Point. He told them he was sitting out the storm but all was well. He wanted to wait until it was over before docking. That way the little boat wouldn’t get banged up.

After sending the email, he started up the little sterno to heat up his water for the spaghetti. In his bag he also had a loaf of garlic bread and a bottle of mineral water. Waiting out here might not be so bad afterall. Waiting for the water to boil, Jonathan turned on the radio to listen to the reports. Old man Wesley was already at his post, collecting names and locations of any ships in the area that may need assistance.

Perhaps after dinner he’d take a nap.

I was blog cruising the other day and stopped by Paperback Writer’s blog. While there, I read her post about going internet-less for a year and how she moderates her online time even now.

I admire her for her intestinal fortitude.

I’m not addicted to the ‘net. Nope, not me. I can get off of here any time I want. I can! Really.

Scene One:

“You ain’t gonna plug that thing in, are you? We don’t allow no surfers in here.”

“No, no, I’m not a surfer. I’m just here for a drink.”

“Yeah, right. If you just gotta surf, take it outside. Don’t want you bothering the other customers.”

Scene Two:

“Did you read where ‘net surfing has gone up to $2 a minute?”

“Yeah, I did. I keep telling myself that if it ever reached 2 bucks, I’d quit. Now that it’s here…”

“I follow you. They got a patch now. I tried the gum but didn’t like the after taste.”

Scene Three:

A dark sedan, its hubcaps reflecting the light from the only street lamp, was stopping at the corner. A back window rolled down a few inches. Snaking out from it was a stiff wire with a magnet on the end. Once secured to the roof, a faint blue glow was visible through the open window. They were sniffing for wifi. Good guys or bad guys? We didn’t know and weren’t going to take any chances. We shut the system down, sending a couple hundred ‘net junkies into shock.

Scene Four:

I saw her coming down the sidewalk. She wore jeans and a plain t-shirt. But it was neither her nor her clothing I was waiting for. It was the bag she carried. I can tell the ones that’s selling their wares. They grip that handle hard and they have a certain sway in their walk. Probably from the RF implant in one or more ears. While it allowed them to recieve signals over great distances, they hadn’t yet figured out how to fix the balance problem.

She paused at the doorway, looking around the busy street. She spotted me and froze in place. She knew I was on to her. She went through the doorway and into the darkness of the bar. I followed of course.

Just as I thought. There were little cubicles surrounding the room, each with a sliding curtain, hiding the occupant. Others were braver and stood at keyboards placed around the room. Standing gave them the chance to run. Up front a woman, I think it was a woman, was dressed in vinyl text screens and dancing around a small desk. As I watched, she picked up another flexible screen and, as she danced, she put it on her body, covering another bare spot. Debit chips flew through the air to land at her feet. The crowd loved this.

Two big men were talking to the woman I followed, and they were looking at me. I had to decide quick. Did I give in to my own desires and enter a booth to stand at a keyboard? Or did I pull out my badge and barcode gun?

This post was written ahead of time and scheduled to appear on line. If you are reading this, it worked. If you are not reading this, then this statement is gratuitous.