Hi there everyone, I'm taking a writing class and found some solace in this piece I wrote. I tried to expose my feelings and answer them through character, and I hope that it gives some of you some entertainment or satisfaction. Please let me know what you think :)
I edited it a little bit for my fellow forumites, because I felt that there were certain things I'd be able to say here that would not be so acceptable in a community college environment. I hope you liked it :DHeartbreak: La Mer said:I’m rocking back and forth as I wake up. I think I’ve been sleeping for quite some time and it’s taking me longer than usual to remember where I am. A physical sensation, dim at first, starts growing on me. I’m rocking really violently now. My blurry vision comes back into focus and I see waves all around me, my skin feeling peeled and sore. What is that all around me? Is that the sea? A shockwave of nausea thunders through my aching gut.
“Good afternoon, I thought you’d retired from my company for good this time,” sounds a stranger’s voice.
Startled, I quickly assume a more composed attitude. I attempt to respond but find no words; I’m still completely confused by the blue waters all around me.
“Who’s there?” I manage to say, in between large gulps of panicked breath. The panic blurs my vision again. I can only make out what looks to be a stick figure sprawled out on the other side of our small boat.
“Oh I try not to remember that anymore, so I don’t think it’s going to be important now,” he replied.
I find the tone of his voice startling, so nonchalant, but what he’s saying is not the slightest bit reassuring. Just what kind of situation am I in? I look around frantically, grabbing my chest as if to make sure I’m actually here while attempting to piece together what exactly is going on. The first, most obvious, thing I notice corroborates the sensations I had when I first woke up. I’m on a boat in the middle of a rather violent body of water. Is it an ocean? Oh I hope not! The water is a dark blue, and I see no hills, no land, and no sign of any life besides this stranger’s hairy legs mine are frantically bumping into. Is that dried blood on my shins?
I try to sit up but pain shoots up through my spine. The sound of empty bottles cracking against the boat sends what feels to be sharp needles through my head. As the pain recedes I proceed to rack my brain in a desperate attempt to remember anything. I find myself reaching into my pockets to look for clues. There is no wallet, there are no keys, and there is no phone. Have I been drinking again? Stacey would kill me if she found out I’d hit the sauce and ended up in the middle of nowhere! Oh, now I remember, Stacey.
“I don’t think it’s going to help thinking too much, you know.” The stranger cautions.
“Remembering what happened is only going to make this little bit of time we have left that much worse.”
“Well you think talking like that helps?” I snap back, immediately covered with shame for letting my agitation get the best of me. “I’m sorry, I’m just frustrated. Do you think you could be a little bit more helpful and tell me where we are?”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. We’re not anywhere. We used to be, but that’s long gone now. Now we’re nowhere. It helps to forget, bud. I’ve got to say I’m a little envious of you. Think of it as a present. Heck, the way you were drinking I’d say you’ve earned it.”
Well this is great. I’m in a boat fit for 2 people and one of us is totally insane. I’m not sure which one yet. And if I believe what this guy’s saying then that means I’ve been drinking again. But can I trust him? From the way he’s talking we obviously know each other, so he’s not a stranger. I must’ve been able to trust him if I managed to get totally hammered, black out, and wake up in one piece. But I’ll only believe that if I trust him. Lord knows something awful must have happened to get me to start drinking again. A large wave knocks me out of my head and back into the boat.
“Is there a storm coming or what, man?” I ask, trying to ease myself into the mood for a conversation. I need to get any information I can out of him.
“Depends on what you mean by a storm, bronco.”
Bronco, that nickname brings back warm associations; my worries erode as a memory begins to dawn on me. That’s what Stacey had called me when she was pleased with me. I decide to close my eyes and try and focus on it, expand it, and make it real again. The intense rays of the sun make it impossible.
“Life’s been quite a storm for you, bronco. And just like a strong wind will rip the leaves off a tree, this storm seems to have whipped the memories right out of your head. But don’t be scared about it now, every storm’s got its adventure to it. We can’t plan our storms, we can’t plan our adventures. You’ve got to learn to submit to the storm. That’s the storm we’ve got, bronco.”
I see the man for the first time, and I notice he’s a skeleton. Not quite literally, but he’s a castaway who’s not long for this world. He’s wasting away right in front of me. I’m surprised I haven’t been eaten. The wave of nausea finally overcomes me.
I must have fainted from the lack of food or the awful realization that I’m not anywhere close to being safe. I feel a dream like a fever as I’m being raptured to another time. I was telling my deepest secrets to Stacey, lying in bed, the covers twisted at our feet. I looked her deep in the eyes and said,
“I think I can finally say I trust someone. I think I can trust you.”
“That’s because I see you, Bronco. And I love what I see.”
These words echo in my heart, until the dream fades and I feel the pain of the boat’s bolts stabbing me in the ribs.
I snap back to awareness and grab the paddles.
“Well what’s got you all in a bunch?” the old man whispered with weak breath. How long was I passed out? It sounds like he can barely muster the strength to speak now.
“We belong somewhere old man and it ain’t here.”
“You know where you’re going, bronco?” He whispered weaker this time, his voice trailing off into the seemingly infinite sea.
“Not yet, but I know we aren’t staying here,” I said as I felt my muscles crack, my heart finally pumping the blood I hope, perhaps unrealistically, will give me the strength I need to push through the pain. But what do I need it for? Where is home? I scan the horizon, looking for any trace of direction. I notice what seems to be wreckage of some sort to my right. I wince before I notice a leaf in the water. It looks like it’s floated from what I haphazardly guess is southwest. Should I make an effort? Is it worth the effort?
“No effort’s ever a waste my friend. But don’t forget whatever’s inspired you. Your hope is mine too, so I guess memory might be a gift after all.”
The old man said this like it was the last thing he’d ever say. He drew in a deep breath, I heard it, I felt it, and I felt strong for a moment. It seemed like there was the angel of death with us and this old man, in his final hours, was encouraging me despite its cold embrace. Maybe he’d been awake all along while I had been too afraid. Maybe the sight of death had taken its hold on both of us, fear stealing our hearts, but I’m not going to give in now. Life is still an option as the paddles begin smacking the cold, deep waters.
Narrator: It seems Bronco here has been trying to cope with chaos. How do we cope with chaos? Why look around you, do you see cars outside of the bar in the middle of the day? Do you see energy drinks flying off the shelves, and fast-food restaurants full to the brim? We’re looking for the fix, much like Bronco looked for the fix. How many times had he taken that bitter sip in order to lose his pain? But you know what? The chaos, the storm, it made a disciple out of him. When he submitted to the forces he couldn’t control he found the power to transmute his fear, through love. All around you the winds are blowing. They’re picking up faster and faster, and much like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz you’re bound to see frightening things outside your window as you move through the storm. But you will survive. Have hope, find the strength of hope, and, “Bronco”, you will survive.
