Anchorless, waiting for my last storm.
—-
I have to go for it. Without waiting for any longer, with my cacoethes rising, I shifted my onerous figure, tried paddling the shimmering water for the first time, the sound of new wood creaking, marking my spark of finding freedom.
“Oh hold on ‘ere whippersnapper, now what do you think you doin’?”
Well, until then it was still a mystery to me why didn’t they choose some recently refined lad from the construction lab instead of this.
. eh.. rust-covered centenarian. His skin is speckled with uneven paint and areas of imperfections, there are cracks of paint at the end of his eyes, showing his years of sailing.
‘Urgh, what else?’
‘What else, Sir Anchor, how are you becoming so high and mighty young gentleman?’, his chain clinks together as he ploddingly budges to the prow, “Do you really think you can beat all the hungry waves out there, by yourself?”, he frowned, his pepper tinted brows almost meet each other makes me unable to suppress a small chuckle.
“Oh you’re just one of those typical elders who shudders even at the calmest sea, life is for adventure, and I ain’t gonna waste time to be rotten by the harbor no more, how distasteful?”
‘Boy’, sighed he, ‘believe me you are not ready for all of that, I have accompanied countless of experienced sea captains and if you let the sea lull you, you are in serious grave danger’, he bends forward to keep his balance.
‘Sir, but..’
He snorted, a small grin flashing across his face, ‘Until you have the courage to lose sight of the shore, you will not know the terror of being forever lost at sea, Gull.’
It was a precious lesson to me, the one I still use recently to flashback those days of my golden age.
‘I do! I have plenty of courage and now I’m ready to explore the out-there, nothing can change my mind Sir.’
But there is no out-there, not if you don’t have an orientation or destination in mind..
Hoisting the sails, never in my life before have I experienced the ocean so immense, cool air blowing my mind full as I glided past those playful ripples, deluding of setting my paddle to all seven seas. Shoreline was just a dark thread from here, and now I’m heading further.
However, my excitement little by little decreased as I soon realised after days of chasing, no matter how fast or how hard I tried, the horizon over there just seems to keep be out of reach, because surround me now are all horizons, all water.
“And now it just make sense to you isn’t it”, as if he can read from my disappointment, calmly, “Do you see the little dot over there? Head to that island before the storm kicks in boy.”
It has been days before we last talked, but what does he even mean? I let out a laugh at Anchor, he is just being over exaggerating – “The ocean is utterly quiet, it’s a beautiful afternoon with yellow and purple clouds. There are no birds about, but this morning I saw flocks of them flying southward as if there’s a feast down there, birds aren’t that foolish to throw a party with a storm coming Sir. Should we come over and join them? It would be SOO much fun!”
“Well?”
‘Head to the island. NOW!’
Too late, in front of me now is an aghast sight, suddenly everything drowned into dusk, the raging water came crashing my sides from every directions, my sails got torn away like my hopes and dreams from the beast-like roaring thunders and fuming winds. How come yet I felt so safe being cherished by the ocean just before and yet now totally overwhelmed by its brutal acrimony,
“C’MON!”
My wheel spinning like going mental, resisting the force, we escaped the storm eye. Reaching the island, blades of extreme gale still came thrusting at me. In my bewilderment, Sir Anchor dived right into the battling water without any hesitation, keeping me secure and stable with all his fortitude and how strangely in middle of the storm, I felt a heartening bond. I heard his chain breaks, my heart sinks with it, and the downpour gradually drop back to its normal.
After all it just feel like a split of second, just after a blink and I sure look like a decrepit mess now, disabled along with my fully-torn sails and cracks all over, drifting uncontrollably.
—
I used to be the Prince Charming of the Pacific coast, literally and figuratively, not a single person, the royal, earls and countesses, nor the most fastidious signorinas in their blooming 20s, ever to disclaim my glamour. I was always robust and polished, however, despite all the praises and acclaims, there was always a blaze, aching my hull, of wanting to explore· more.
You can’t blame me! The preparation process took so long and finally I was placed onto water. I wanted freedom, open air and adventure, and I found it here, a place where I really belonged to, with Mother Ocean nestles me in her arms, taking all my weights and heavy away. Explore – Dream – Discover. There would be so much more above the horizon over there, all of the most magnificent things you can ever dream of! Days after days of waiting for the final checks that they perendinated times and times again, I started to feel like sinking into oblivion, when would they let me discover the world out there, to unfurl all those spotlessly white sails?
My life would have been different, if that night, the water wasn’t that calm, and the calls of fishermen somewhere far far away weren’t that alluring beneath the August moon.
—
Lay here I count the boats returning from the sea.
Lay here I count the boats returning to the sea.
Anchorless, waiting for my last storm.
[1008 words]
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