Sinking Ship (standard:fantasy, 6015 words)
Author: Lilly Plume	Added: Aug 27 2007	Views/Reads: 4730/2329	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A short story about a girls life and her quest to find what she has lost.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

It looked Indian, so bright were the colours and I loved it. It hung 
nicely over my shoulder, as if it had been made for me, and I knew I 
would take it everywhere with me. The earrings were amazing too, with a 
tear drop design, the whitey blue stone looked ghostly. 

The third present on my bed was always the best, and I hated that. The
third present on my bed was always the best one. It would be beautiful 
and expensive. It was the present any girl in my situation would have 
longed for, it was the kind of present rich children got. One year it 
had been a massive fairy book, with a hard cover and golden writing. 
The paper was smooth and silky, with illustrations that took up a whole 
page. The illustrations were fantastic, dainty fairies with petal 
dresses who walked on spider's silk tight ropes and lassoed the moon to 
lengthen the night so their party could last forever. Their amazing 
homes were hidden in tree trunks with willow leaf curtains and tiny 
tables, chairs, pots and pans. It was a book that you kept for your 
whole life, and gave to your grandchildren and saw the joy it had 
brought you on their faces. Unfortunately for me, if the amount of joy 
shown on their faces was equal to that of mine on the day I received 
that book, I would have been sorely mistaken in giving them the book. 
It was not the book that had upset me, nor was it that I was an 
ungrateful child. I knew that the book, the third present on my bed 
symbolised the constant struggle for my grandparents. In our house 
money was scarce and birthdays and Christmas were a great struggle for 
them. A struggle I knew they didn't have to go through and yet they 
did, every year, and they got me a fabulous present that they would not 
take credit for. A present from my parents. 

That year my third present was a wonderful pink camel. It was stuffed,
and the soft material was beautiful on my cheek. It had funny little 
tufts of pink fluff on its head and at the end of its tail. It was 
majestic and lovable it was a perfect present, even if it was a bit 
childish. I tried to thank Grandma Cam and Grandpa Michael for the 
present in turn, but neither would accept. 

My birthday breakfast was lemon and sugar pancakes with fruit juice,
which seemed so glamorous compared to my usual toast and water. Grandpa 
Michael sang Happy Birthday to me in his rough voice that grated 
through the song like sand paper on glass, murdering the simple song in 
a way that only he could. Grandma Cam handed me cotton wool to put in 
my ears to block him out. I thought it was really funny and began 
laughing and laughing until I couldn't stop, Grandma Cam started to 
laugh as well and finally at the end of that song Grandpa Michael 
started laughing too. I'll always remember that morning, that was the 
morning the spark started to come back in Grandma Cam's eyes. I could 
see it, even then, it was like a diamond, or a star, shining at us 
faintly, promising the return of a woman I had never known but my 
Grandpa had fallen in love with. 

I spent that day at the beach and on the headland that rose from the bay
to form the northern tip. I swam in the large rock pools that were 
situated over the rocks that formed the treacherous bottom of the 
headland.  I enjoyed the cool water flowing over my arms and legs and 
the gentle touch of the seaweed on my toes. I could feel myself getting 
better at swimming, my arms were growing muscles that drove my body 
through the water. As my shoulders broke the surface of the water, the 
chill of the air caught them, driving me to dive again and submerge my 
body into the temperate depths. The feeling of contentment welled 
inside me that day. I am sure I haven't felt that way since. Standing 
on the slipway above the beach with my back to the sea, I watched as 
the barman unloaded his car. He was whistling a familiar song, that I 
couldn't quite remember. His face was as brown as seaweed and his hair 
was silvery grey, he was wrinkled but his eyes where a kind milky blue. 
He was quite round under his checked shirt, and his shorts portrayed 
his spindly brown legs. He was as wild as the sea and as old as the 
rocks, he knew everyone and smiled all the time. He had a small sailing 
boat called Marie-Ann which he sailed on calm days. She had a pea green 
hull with yellow trimming and sail. Inside her polished wood, the ropes 
were neat and orderly, with oars and fishing gear stowed away under the 
seat. He loved Marie-Ann, she was his pride and joy. The look of 
satisfaction and pride that beamed from his face whenever he pushed her 
onto the water or cleaned her until she was spotless, was as bright as 
the nearby lighthouse. As I sat there watching him, he beckoned me to 
cross the road to the pub. The wind blew suddenly and a cold shiver ran 
down my spine, I hesitated but crossed the road. His jolly face greeted 
me fondly and he ruffled my hair affectionately with his big hands. I 
smiled and sat down on the outside table near his car. 

That had been the best day of my life, the kind of day you pray to God
for and then ask for it to never end. But like all days it did end, 
and, as I snuggled up in my bed, still smiling from the surprise tea 
party my grandma had organised for me, I couldn't ever imagine leaving 
my bay, and my grandparents. 

As I stumbled up to my dolmen sanctuary, my head was spinning with what
I was about to do. From a young age Tom, the barman, had told me the 
stories about the bay, he had told everyone and, young or old, everyone 
listened to him. He had told me that the whites of the broken waves 
were white horses galloping together across the sand, flicking their 
silver manes and talking in a language that no one else understood. He 
had informed me to not get too near to the seaweed on the rocks as the 
tide rose, because of the mermaids, who the seaweed wigs belonged to, 
were always nasty and ever ready to fight anyone for their possessions. 
He had warned me that when the mermaids where angry their splashed 
their powerful tails around so much that they made the sea jump and 
leap over the sea wall, often taking their precious wigs with it or 
even an unsuspecting mermaid. He enlightened me in the ways of the 
sea's magic, telling me that if I carved my name into a penny and threw 
it into the white water off the end of the treacherous reef, followed 
by a kiss, my true love would find me and never let me go. As a young 
child I had taken heed of his words and run from the beach as soon as 
the tide began to turn. I had run with the white horses and flicked my 
own brown hair in the breeze, neighing and talking gibberish. Though I 
was a curious child, I had never thought to actually try throwing a 
penny into the sea, possibly because I had known that my mother and 
father had been deeply in love and it had made them do stupid things to 
the people they loved. At the time, true love didn't sound very 
glamorous and I had thought that going and finding it was unnecessary 
and stupid. The sea wind blew through my hair ferociously; suddenly 
gusting up to what I thought was at least a force seven. I knew I would 
have to act quickly as soon the reef would be too hazardous to 
contemplate walking on. Out of my birthday bag I drew my wooden handled 
pen knife that I had been given by one of the lobster fishermen; it was 
quite blunt when I had first been given it, but Tom had helped me to 
sharpen it. I looked at it then and ran the blade against my thumb, as 
I had seen the fishermen do, to test how sharp it was. I decided it had 
to be sharp enough and quickly retrieved the large penny I had ready in 
my pocket, which was meant to be saved for when the ice-cream van 
arrived in the bay. I knew to be careful as I carved my name onto the 
penny's rough surface, I had heard of many would-be engravers who had 
cut the ends of their fingers off or worse. Each stroke was difficult 
and intricate, worsened by the heightening wind and the cries of the 
sea birds as they came into land for the storm. With it safely secured 
in my bag once more, I climbed down onto the rocks, they were slippery 
with a green seaweed that seemed to grow from the very rocks like grass 
in a field. It looked dry enough but I knew that however dry that kind 
of seaweed looked it was always relentlessly slippery. I tried to avoid 
it, but, like grass, it covered much of the rock, so I had to go on my 
hands as well, letting my arms take my weight where my feet could not. 
100 yards from the edge of the reef, I had to always hold on to the 
rocks for dear life because of the battering wind that was pushing the 
angry waves inland, over my head, soaking my pitiful body and 
threatening to take me with it. Seaweed was soaring out of the waves 
and I was reminded of the cruel mermaids lurking just beneath the 
surface, causing the mountainous waves in their anger. Inching over the 
rocks, I made my way to the edge. My hands were bleeding from the many 
cuts I had attained from the sharp rocks and barnacles, my feet numb 
from the cold. The blue June sky had clouded over so severely that I 
could have sworn that it was after sunset and the purple menacing 
clouds rumbled overhead threateningly. With one final push, I managed 
to pull myself onto the last rock before the dangerous sea took over. 
Feeling confident I managed to stand, I looked down at the penny, now 
in my hand. Even then I knew that I could stop and go back, could. But 
I knew in my heart of hearts that I had come too far not to throw that 
penny into the raging waters. I leant back to throw the penny, but an 
amazing gust caught me and propelled me backwards, throwing me 
painfully onto a rock, the impact retching the kiss from my lips like a 
blow to the stomach. The penny flew from my hand and I heard it fall 
into a rock pool. With a coldness swelling in around me, I opened my 
eyes to see where it had fallen. The wind stung against my eyes, which 
were suddenly painful, salty and hard to keep open. I knew that if my 
penny had landed in a rock pool, it was extremely bad luck, because of 
rock pool's inabilities to join the sea and let the water join the 
greater mass. They're breeding grounds for stagnancy, malformations and 
land-based diseases. I had been told this by the fishermen, who would 
never let their children fish in the rock pools like the other 
children. I needed to have my penny back. I stretched my bloody hand 
toward the pool where I assumed the penny had landed. Groping around in 
it with my face to the rock, I tried to take it from the clinging 
seaweed. I tried and tried, extending my arm further and further into 
the seemingly never-ending pool, each inch using up much energy that 
was quickly running out. Great claps of lightning and roars of thunder 
directly over head almost drenched out the screeching wind and the 
pounding sea. I was trembling, salty tears were running down my already 
wet face, mixing with the salty sea water on my face. My eyes hurt more 
than anything, and my vision was becoming blurred so that seaweed and 
rocks merged together, sea and sky joined and touch and hearing became 
my most reliable senses. I felt hands on my bruised ankles and I 
screamed, my voice sounding a pitiful sigh against the deafening 
elements, it cracked my throat. The hands on my ankles were long and 
languid, pale and slightly greenish tinged. They were slimy and 
slippery like a fish's scales but their grasp was as metallic as steel. 
I tried feebly to pull away as the pointed face with over-large nose 
emerged from the water. Its eyes were like black beads, staring at me, 
its impish grin was nasty and deceiving, concealing the pointed teeth I 
knew were hidden behind it. Its head was bald, with feathery wisps of 
hair protruding from its naked scalp. I could see a seaweed wig only 
inches from my hand; I struggled to reach it and throw it back into the 
raging sea. As I wriggled to get nearer, the tight grip on my ankle got 
tighter, and it twisted my ankle on its side, sending shooting burning 
pains up my legs. Once again I cried out, but this time my voice was 
not even heard by me. Opening its green lips that were plump and 
shining, exposing the millions of sharp pointed teeth, it began to 
sing. At first the notes were melodious and sweet, painting pictures of 
beautiful underwater places. This was the kind of song sailors of old 
fell in love with and cast themselves from the boats into the perilous 
sea to hear.  It was the song that had caused Odysseus himself to tie 
his body to the mast of his ship to hear the beautiful and alluring 
song, while his crew sailed on with wax in their ears to block out the 
wriggling, soulful music. The music of the mermaids. I felt my body 
relax, the muscles each individually coming to a stop and laying me 
still. The fingers became hands and the hands became arms as the 
mermaid hoisted itself out onto the rocks with me. I could just make 
out its scaly body, green tinged like its face and fish like. It 
repulsed me as it drew itself closer and closer to me, breathing its 
fishy breath on my pale skin. I tried to pull myself away from it but 
the hand was holding me down. It was still singing, the notes twisting 
and sharpening, the song becoming more screech-like than music. It 
brought its rank face closer to mine, still screeching and drew a small 
pointed blade out of nowhere. My breath stopped in my chest as I waited 
for it to strike. It was playing with me like a cat, stroking the blade 
over my exposed neck. Lightning struck behind it, channelling the 
electric energy into the sea, causing the mermaid to look behind it. I 
tried to take my chance and roll away from it but my muscles were dead, 
leaving me helpless and pitiful at the mercy of the malicious being. I 
shut my eyes, I could not look into those emotionless eyes while it 
slit my throat. Once again, I could feel it leaning over me, breathing 
on me and sliding the blade across my neck, cheek, forehead. I heard 
the intake of breath as it raised the blade, poised, I imagined, to 
strike down on my body. I waited, second by second, ticking by like 
hours. The pause was too long, the wind was drying my face, as if there 
was no longer a body sheltering me from the ravaging wind. I opened my 
eyes. Slowly, carefully, the dangerous world came back into view and 
the mermaid was gone. I let out a sigh of relief, as the heavens 
roared, threatening to break apart above me. I found I could move, a 
bit, my muscles were free from the wailing song that had enchanted 
them, but still rang in my ears. I sat up and saw that the sea, though 
still rough, had calmed slightly. The white crested waves still raced 
towards me, reminding me of the white horses that Tom had told me 
about. As this thought entered my head, a great, galloping white horse 
emerged from the bubbling water. It shook, allowing the diamond like 
beads of water to fly from its coat and mane. Its pink nose was 
velvety-looking, its eyes black and menacing. I did not go near it, 
afraid to be trampled beneath its massive hooves. It fixed me with a 
piercing stare and trotted towards me, nimble on the rocks, gathering 
speed with every inch. I could not move once again, even my mouth was 
frozen half way to a scream, as it neared me, its hooves thundering on 
the rocks, its breath fast and noisy. I held my breath, it was feet 
away from me, inches, I shut my eyes and waited once again for the 
impact that would cause my death. The hooves stopped barely an inch 
from where I sat. Opening my eyes I saw that it had jumped over me and 
into the swirling water beyond me. I did not breath a sigh of relief, 
nor did my heart stop racing before a hand, different from the 
mermaid's, clutched my shoulder. I did not turn; the odour coming from 
it was appalling, the incapacitating stench of rotting flesh, human 
excretion and old fish wormed inside my unsuspecting nostrils. Leaning 
near to me, it breathed softly in my ear, whispering words I couldn't 
understand as they were lost on the wind, nearly as soon as they had 
been said. My heart was beating fast in my chest, I turned to look into 
the face of the thing behind me. It had moved away from my shoulder and 
was looking down so I could not see its face, but I knew it was a man. 
A normal man, with hair and skin and eyes, rather than a fishlike 
thing, akin to the previous one. A nervous smile cracked on my mouth as 
I recognised the man who was there to help me. He must have felt me 
staring at him as he looked up at me. I saw his face and gasped with 
fright. His features were barely recognisable as human, so rotten was 
his skin. I shuffled away, and once again lightning struck behind me, 
illuminating the whole sky. He stood and stumbled towards me, his hands 
and arms were greenish blue like that of a drowning victim. The skin 
itself was mottled and flaking, his stench was so repugnant with the 
heavy wind blowing it towards me, I nearly vomited. As he closed in on 
me, tears anew sprang from my tired eyes, my mind dredging up all the 
sorry reasons I was sitting there, trying to escape. I yelled out for 
him to leave me alone, but no one heard it. He came and knelt in front 
of me, I was sick into the boiling sea. Holding out his repulsive hand 
towards me, he showed me a stone that was like the centre of a roaring 
fire, with flames almost visibly licking at its edges. He took my hand 
in his other hand. I was beyond caring that the stench was unbearable 
and his hand was visibly rotting, leaving nauseating marks on my pink 
skin. He put the stone in my palm and closed my fingers around it. It 
was strangely warm, unlike him, and it fitted perfectly into my palm as 
if it had been made to sit there. He opened the hole in his face that I 
assumed was a mouth and said two audible words; ‘fire opal'. I believed 
he was telling me what the stone was and I nodded. Struggling to his 
feet, he beckoned me to stand as well. The wind had died down enough 
for me to stand as well and the sea was calmer. I felt more relaxed and 
stopped noticing what was going on around me. He began to sway, as if 
he was as limp as a doll, swinging in the breeze and I began to realise 
he was dancing. Actually managing to smile, I began to dance too, 
swaying on the rock where I stood. The whole experience had felt so 
strange up to that point, where dancing clumsily with the stagnant 
lover I had summoned on a rock on the end of the reef when the wind was 
bellowing, the sea was bubbling and raging like a cauldron, thunder and 
lightning crashing around us like the dark end of the world, felt like 
the most natural thing to do. I closed my eyes and continued to dance 
to the rhythm of the pounding waves, the song of the whistling wind. We 
were like that for a long time before I felt his hands push me 
backwards. I stumbled; opening my eyes to see he was sad to leave me. 
We both knew we wouldn't see each other ever again. It was an odd 
feeling as I stumbled backwards into the furious sea, everything was 
going so slowly that I managed to think how sad I was as well to be 
leaving the only simply nice person I had ever met, but as I watched 
him he began to look more and more like a rock. 

I woke up in a hospital bed with beeping machines surrounding me. The
stench of sea had vanished and the new chemical smell of disinfectant 
filled my nostrils. The walls were white and clean, my bed felt 
coffin-like around me. Grandma Cam and Grandpa Michael were sat next to 
the bed. They both let out a sigh of relief and Grandpa Michael wiped 
tear from his eyes. They set about cuddling me, making sure I was 
alright, and telling me that I was lucky to be alive and not suffering 
from any major injures, even though my hands were bandaged. They let me 
sleep. 

It took a week before I went back home because the hospital needed to
tend to my hands, and make sure I was completely well before I left. I 
had assumed that all I had seen on the reef had been a hallucination 
caused by the hit to the head I had suffered when I had fallen and 
dropped my penny. Apart from my curiously scarred hands, there was no 
proof that my experience was anything but normal. That was until I 
received my clothes back from the hospital and found the fire opal 
gently glowing inside the pocket of my jumper where I had stowed it 
once I had been given it. At first I had been repulsed by the thought 
of it, but quickly its tender warmth became calming and reassuring. It 
almost made me glad I had gone to the reef. Once home though the 
questioning began. Why were you on the reef? I was on the reef to 
summon true love. I am lonely, I replied. What about your school 
friends? It wasn't them I needed. After so long living with my 
grandparents, they were more my mother and father than my biological 
parents, but recently a nagging hole inside me had begun to grow and my 
biological parents were the ones I needed to fill it. Living in the bay 
cuts me off from them more than the ocean, I replied. What do you want 
us to do? I wanted them to find my parents and bring them back, the 
same that I wanted the lover, in-case he could help me to get off the 
island, away from my beloved bay and grandparents, but closer to where 
my real parents were. I want to go and live with my cousins on the 
continent, I replied. Alright, they said, are you sure that's what you 
want? I nodded and the deal was done. Moving away felt like I was 
wrenching out my heart. I loved my grandparents and my bay dearly but 
moving from them was taking one step closer to my parents. 

On my last day on the island, I went up to my dolmen, the fire opal in
my hand. I dug right down into the sandy earth and buried it, knowing 
that it, like so many things, had to remain in the bay they had come 
from. Digging with the small spade I had hidden inside my yellow and 
orange bag made my hands hurt, the scars on my palms from the cuts I 
had got from the rocks were painful because of the rotting flesh 
touching my own bloodied hands. They were as much a reminder of how 
much I had needed to leave as the fire opal, but I could never leave 
them behind. It took a while in the swelteringly hot sun to finish the 
job properly, but once finished, I was sure no one would suspect that I 
had been digging in a sacred site. I went home feeling a lot less happy 
without the comforting warmth of the opal. Once home, Grandma Cam sat 
me down on the sofa in our lounge. The sparkle I had seen beginning to 
return in her eye on my last birthday, was well and truly gone and I 
felt a stab of regret and sorrow pierced my heart. As I snuggled up 
next to her and breathed in the warm and comforting smell of her 
perfume and the sofa, she began on a story I knew well. 

Your mother and father met when they were very young. Your mother was
very taken by your father and he, being a kind and gentle man, was good 
and married her. They were the happiest couple, always smiling, but 
they were both very adventurous people who, though they loved us, 
didn't care a much for others as for themselves and their adventures. 
But we didn't mind because they were happy. On the day of their wedding 
your mother was as beautiful as an angel, dressed all in white with 
seed pearls sewn on her dress and veil like snow. Surrounded by flowers 
they said their vows, your father looking as grand as a duke, and both 
smiling as if their faces had been fixed to stay like that forever. It 
was the most beautiful day, especially when the big white horse arrived 
with the carriage, covered in silver, tinkling bells. They rode away 
like in a fairytale and no one saw them for over a month. They went on 
honeymoon to a hot country, that they forgot to name for us, and when 
they came back they brought you back with them. Your Grandfather was 
angry that they had had a child so soon after marriage but your mother 
was a very strong willed person and would never hear a bad word about 
you or your father, even if it meant upsetting your Grandfather 
greatly. They settled down in a pretty cottage on the other side of the 
island. Your father worked in town from 9 until 5 and your mother 
stayed at home and looked after you. We got to look after you for an 
hour and a half every week on a Thursday afternoon while your mother 
had tea with friends. This continued week in, week out and both of your 
parents got bored of the monotony. They were still adventurous people 
who couldn't do exciting things like rock climbing, they were also 
young and all their friends were still single and ‘living the dream'. 
It will never make up for what they did but they were very unhappy, 
your mother didn't smile anymore, your father didn't whistle. They 
looked years older than the happy couple we had known on their wedding 
day only half a year ago. So when, on that Thursday afternoon, two 
hours had passed since your mother had dropped you off at our house, we 
knew what they had done. I was so incredibly angry with the both of 
them you couldn't imagine, but if they hadn't given you to us to raise 
properly, your upbringing would have been so very different, and I 
don't know it would have been better. We didn't know exactly where they 
went. The note left in their house suggested that they went back to the 
place they were when they went on honeymoon, but yet again they had 
forgotten to tell us where that was, or maybe they just didn't want to 
be found. But I have finally learnt to forgive them now, for what they 
did and so does your Grandfather. 

I hear a bus rush past on the road and I turn my head to look. I think
how much I didn't want to leave, but I did. I went and lived with my 
cousins on the continent. I enjoyed it so much living with my three 
cousins, Lilly, Thomas and Kathryn, all of whom were of similar ages to 
me. I had enjoyed school, but the nagging incompleteness of my soul 
chided me to leave school at the end of my compulsory education and 
begin my search for them. I travelled alone to every hot country I 
could think of but to no avail. I should have known that it would be a 
fruitless search, having had no idea where to even begin looking. So I 
came home. Now sitting here, preparing to go back to the place I should 
never have left, I feel scared. What if they hate me for leaving? What 
if they can't remember me or don't recognise me? What if? I fidget, 
turning over the fire opal again and again. It is still strangely warm 
in my hands, as if the internal fire is burning. At last I stand up and 
walk decisively over the mound and catch my first glimpse of my old 
home. Tears spring to my eyes. Typical, I hear myself saying, the place 
I left to find the people I needed, was actually where they were all 
along. I walk down the headland and finally go home. 


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