this forum is so slow...
Posted: Mon May 07, 2012 12:28 pm
I just felt like boosting it up with more stories!!! XDXDXD i don't expect anyone to reply to it, but who cares.
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In the last few rays of the dying red sun, a girl bent over a table, her ink feather scratching at the dried fish skin parchment. It was a good day for writing; sunny, but not too hot. This kind of weather would only last a day or two. Usually it was pouring rain, flashing lightning, ripping winds and tornadoes or simmering heat. There were hardly ever any good days for writing letters to other colonies, and combined with the time it took to ferry the messages, you were lucky if your reply came back three months later.
The next morning, the entire population of NA Colony had their eyes fixed upon the 4 young men in fish skin bodysuits. With a small groan, they each picked up an overflowing sack of parchment letters, each mailed to a different colony. As the boats floated away from the mass of ships, boats and rafts, a pair of eyes turned towards a certain Sail Post boat, towards the colony where a loved one was far, far away.
For one of the men, he was glad to be out of the NA colony and back in the open sea. Being alone with nature was what he enjoyed most, part of the reason why he had enlisted to become a Sail Postman, as well as getting food as pay. However, it meant probably never seeing your family except for glances as you landed at a colony, and long nights alone on the sea.
But thoughts had to wait until he was sailing peacefully on the sea. Now, he had to prepare for the long journey ahead, a possible 2 months of solitude. The man stepped down into the cabin, and took out the large sack of foodstuffs that was his pay and his only food source. He took out the gas stove, which used gases in the air to light a fire, and a small pot. A bitter smile appeared as he imagined himself using the gas stove for the rest of his life, an image most likely to happen.
Inside the cabin, the air was warm and humid due to the steam the hotpot released. The man was outside however, eating his dinner with a piece of clean wooden plank as a plate and his fingers. What should have been a peaceful expression on his face was instead a scrunched up forehead. The postman could hardly even see the flag above him, an obvious sign that the boat was sailing into foggy waters.
He had heard stories from sailors who had been lost at sea, and he could remember the descriptions they had given of their mast being struck by lightning, falling overboard and losing their boat. The postman did not enjoy any of those things, and he had never lost a letter. Sliding down into the cabin, he took out a piece of fat, wrapped it in a piece of fish cloth, poked his makeshift torch into the gas fire and went out.
However, his torch was for nothing. Outside, it was no longer foggy and had to see. In fact, it was the clearest day he had seen. For a moment, he relaxed, finally able to see.
The relief short-lived.
A small breeze ruffled his hair to the left, and the boat began moving backward; that was enough to make the postman’s forehead wrinkle again.
If the wind was blowing to the left, the boat should be moving leftwards, not backwards.
He leapt to the port, and his view fell upon a tornado whipping up, just a few hundred metres away. The small boat rocked as the postman’s weight jumped to the rear. His face plummeted when he saw the whirlpool behind the boat. If he escaped from such an encounter, it would make him a legend in Sail Post history.
The postman strutted on the deck for a few minutes. His eyes were filled with worry as he examined the situation. The tornado was pulling the boat towards it to the left, while the whirlpool was pulling it backwards. It would be impossible to outrun the massive pulling force of the two natural beasts by sailing to the right, so there was only one other way.
He ran into the cabin, pulled out 2 fish skins and went back on deck. One fish skin flew into the tornado, and travelled in a spiral route to the left. The other fish skin was thrown into the whirlpool and instantly sucked in, after a deadly merry-go-round ride that turned to the right. The postman smiled. If the speeds which the two beasts spun were the same, by carefully manoeuvring his boat, he might just escape.
The man steered the boat into the gap between the two giants, and instantly felt a tug-of-war on the boat. The tornado pulled the boat backwards and to the left, while the whirlpool pulled backwards and to the right. With a steer of the rudder, the boat glided backwards, not uncontrollably, and in a straight line went straight past the two giants fighting for possession of the boat.
With that danger past, the postman took out the oars and began paddling as fast as he could away from the tornado and whirlpool. Doubtlessly there would be other dangers on the way to the next colony, but they would have to wait. For now, rowing away would take enough energy from thinking.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
In the last few rays of the dying red sun, a girl bent over a table, her ink feather scratching at the dried fish skin parchment. It was a good day for writing; sunny, but not too hot. This kind of weather would only last a day or two. Usually it was pouring rain, flashing lightning, ripping winds and tornadoes or simmering heat. There were hardly ever any good days for writing letters to other colonies, and combined with the time it took to ferry the messages, you were lucky if your reply came back three months later.
The next morning, the entire population of NA Colony had their eyes fixed upon the 4 young men in fish skin bodysuits. With a small groan, they each picked up an overflowing sack of parchment letters, each mailed to a different colony. As the boats floated away from the mass of ships, boats and rafts, a pair of eyes turned towards a certain Sail Post boat, towards the colony where a loved one was far, far away.
For one of the men, he was glad to be out of the NA colony and back in the open sea. Being alone with nature was what he enjoyed most, part of the reason why he had enlisted to become a Sail Postman, as well as getting food as pay. However, it meant probably never seeing your family except for glances as you landed at a colony, and long nights alone on the sea.
But thoughts had to wait until he was sailing peacefully on the sea. Now, he had to prepare for the long journey ahead, a possible 2 months of solitude. The man stepped down into the cabin, and took out the large sack of foodstuffs that was his pay and his only food source. He took out the gas stove, which used gases in the air to light a fire, and a small pot. A bitter smile appeared as he imagined himself using the gas stove for the rest of his life, an image most likely to happen.
Inside the cabin, the air was warm and humid due to the steam the hotpot released. The man was outside however, eating his dinner with a piece of clean wooden plank as a plate and his fingers. What should have been a peaceful expression on his face was instead a scrunched up forehead. The postman could hardly even see the flag above him, an obvious sign that the boat was sailing into foggy waters.
He had heard stories from sailors who had been lost at sea, and he could remember the descriptions they had given of their mast being struck by lightning, falling overboard and losing their boat. The postman did not enjoy any of those things, and he had never lost a letter. Sliding down into the cabin, he took out a piece of fat, wrapped it in a piece of fish cloth, poked his makeshift torch into the gas fire and went out.
However, his torch was for nothing. Outside, it was no longer foggy and had to see. In fact, it was the clearest day he had seen. For a moment, he relaxed, finally able to see.
The relief short-lived.
A small breeze ruffled his hair to the left, and the boat began moving backward; that was enough to make the postman’s forehead wrinkle again.
If the wind was blowing to the left, the boat should be moving leftwards, not backwards.
He leapt to the port, and his view fell upon a tornado whipping up, just a few hundred metres away. The small boat rocked as the postman’s weight jumped to the rear. His face plummeted when he saw the whirlpool behind the boat. If he escaped from such an encounter, it would make him a legend in Sail Post history.
The postman strutted on the deck for a few minutes. His eyes were filled with worry as he examined the situation. The tornado was pulling the boat towards it to the left, while the whirlpool was pulling it backwards. It would be impossible to outrun the massive pulling force of the two natural beasts by sailing to the right, so there was only one other way.
He ran into the cabin, pulled out 2 fish skins and went back on deck. One fish skin flew into the tornado, and travelled in a spiral route to the left. The other fish skin was thrown into the whirlpool and instantly sucked in, after a deadly merry-go-round ride that turned to the right. The postman smiled. If the speeds which the two beasts spun were the same, by carefully manoeuvring his boat, he might just escape.
The man steered the boat into the gap between the two giants, and instantly felt a tug-of-war on the boat. The tornado pulled the boat backwards and to the left, while the whirlpool pulled backwards and to the right. With a steer of the rudder, the boat glided backwards, not uncontrollably, and in a straight line went straight past the two giants fighting for possession of the boat.
With that danger past, the postman took out the oars and began paddling as fast as he could away from the tornado and whirlpool. Doubtlessly there would be other dangers on the way to the next colony, but they would have to wait. For now, rowing away would take enough energy from thinking.
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