Short Stories

The Storm

Tilting to the side I swayed as the surge of the waves jostled the boat. The boat which had meant to be a giant long boat able to withstand the roughest of conditions, was nothing more than a carcass of a once proud fishing boat able to withstand only the roughest salmon.

Yet, the boat powered on almost as if some magical forces was leading it straight, the oars which I had once pulled at manically lay idle at my feet, the storm surged above me.

 Previously this would have worried me, the clouds rolling angrily above, the rain like hail hitting me from above, the lightening striking the sea around me with precises inaccuracy. However, the strength, power, potential of the elements no longer worried me, I had one aim and I knew no matter what that I would complete it.

Before I had at least paled the water out of the boat, yet the boat having more holes than planks drained itself each time a wave hit me as a wall of water. Yet, again it no longer bothered me, I felt numb to the swirling storm outside, I did not notice my paling hands nor my redden nose, my frozen wet shirt which stuck to me. The storm did not bother me. The cold did not bother me. The fact I was alone did not bother me. The storm in my mind, that, that did bother me.

Betrayal.

That's what I felt, the storm outside felt like a down played version of my swirling emotions, the strikes of lightening reflecting the pulsing anger as I thought of Him. 

All my memories being reanalysed, my decisions redecided, my assumptions removed. He had placed me on this plank as a last funny joke, and then he had left me. But, he had forgotten one small detail.

I knew where the lighthouse was.

In the distance I could now see the red beacon, surrounded by the black clouds, lit up by the illuminated crashing waves. Cascading Crooked Castle or as it was better known as, his business, house, life. 

Just like the growling waves leaping and falling at its base, I was going to bring it crumbling to the ground.

Clenching my fists, I smiled, the storm of life has never felt so good I thought as the magical force of revenge stirred the carcass towards the red beacon. He was going to regret testing me; he might not find the boat so funny anymore when he sees me arrive, or at least I would make sure he won't. 

The surging in my head settled, the eye of the storm is always the most dangerous.