Day Dreamer

I often find myself in a dream, playing stories in my head, avoiding the rut of day-to-day life. Imagining worlds too bold to live off paper. As my hands sink deeper into dishwater, I let my mind drift away. The suds climb from wrist to forearm, the temperature matching my skin. The water soon covers the clutter of plates and bowls. The running water a white noise: static pixelating a white framed life. I let my body go heavy, and soon numb. An aroma of salt and wet oak rises, transporting me far from reality. The sound of crashing waves rushes over, I'm floating away again, further into the clouds of creativity. Body still, in shallow breath, time is non-existent here. I could live a thousand lives before my return. I rather live here, than my grey world, dull in life's mundane regularities.

The sound of waves is louder now and has moved outside my thoughts. Home is a distant memory. Wood creaks and the body sways; rather the ground beneath starts to tilt. I find myself in a dark storm, at sea: unbalanced in the hard sway of the ship. My stomach drops in a sickening adrenaline. Thunder booms, cannons blast; a deafening rush of action begins, sailors firing at something unseen. An authoritative voice calls out in direction:

"Ease sails!"

"Secure the lifelines!"

"Batten down the hatches!"

I search for the voice, trying to ground myself, in this crash of animation.

"Heave to!"

The ship turns: thin to wind, the force knocking me down and to the side. I hit my head against a post. My vision blurred, in a haze I blink hard, scrunching my nose in focus. A peg leg lands hard in front of me, The Captain standing, looking down with a turned brow.

"Sailor! Secure the lifelines!"

Dizzy, I stand, and nearly lose footing again. With a discerning look, the captain shoves a rope to my chest. In a deep breath, I tighten my core and run down the steps from the bridge to the deck. My boot filling with water at the last step.

"Aaugh" all too fast I'm back home, the sink has overflown, there is water pouring out on the floor, my socks are soaked. Quickly I shut off the tap, hand still on the faucet I sigh. As I mop up the water, I start to play the words in my head.

A hardened captain in the midst of the greatest storm he has ever seen. He must protect his crew from a bellowing beast. He had lost his leg to this sea monster, and now he fears the creature has returned to take his life.

I place the mop to the side and sit at my table with an overwhelming passion. Pen in hand the words come out fast, in scribbles of infatuation. I re-imagine the waves, feeling my stomach drop once more, the smell of salt returning. I'm back here, in mind's eye, the place of a thousand lives.

Panic sets in again, the storm, the waves, the beast below the ship. There is a thick fog over the ocean, it's as if we were sailing the clouds. I look out, and see this long, black, eel-like shape, move closer and closer to the ship, a second emerges from the sea, a third, a fourth.

"Sailor! The lifelines"

I remember the rope tight to my chest. I move my focus from the creatures in the fog to the mast, fifteen lives tied to one post. The order seems pointless as the creatures close in. I step down to the flooding deck. The boat tills left, and the cannons roll back: the boat tills right, the cannons roll forward; crashing into the siding each time. Sailors trying to steady their aim and their stance.  I run to the mast, jumping over barrels and dodging flying debris. Fearing the inevitable. As I tightened the lines, I hear a chittering groan. The water starts to clear off the deck draining fast at the sides. It occurred to me, the many eel-like beasts in the water were in fact one great squid, the ship was in its grasp now. Desperately I tightened the rest of the lines, as the beast tightened its grip. The boat jerked, tossing me to the side, the rope cutting my hand. I looked down in pain, the blood turned black;  ink from my pen: hands shaking in an arthritic cramp. I was back at my table, left with the sick feeling of despair, and unsteady in my surroundings as if this life was the dream. I blink hard, scrunching my nose, staining: my ears giving an echoing vibration as I look deeper into my mind's eye. Making my way back to the rush of this sailor's life, to the crew, to the beast. I must finish the story.

The sails are now torn, the railing broken off, the deck full of debris, and still in the beast's grasp. There is a silent ringing in my ears, sailors shouting indistinctly: running port to bow, bow to starboard, frantic, chaotic; lost in a soundless panic. The chittering groan; louder this time. A great big tentacle slammed hard on the deck, breaking a hole in the ship: sailors falling over bored, out into the sea. The breast thrashed, the boat gave a loud crack and broke in two. It crushing the stern with its great beak. Three fellow sailors dangling by the ropes tied to their waist, the captain lost with the steering. I wrapped my hand around the rope, wincing in pain as I pulled them up one by one. The cut on my hand growing deeper.

"Our only chance is the lifeboats!" The second called as he helped the third abord.

Quickly with a pocket knife, I cut each rope from the mast. The few, lost souls run to starboard, in a desperate escape.   The ship shakes again as the beast raises us higher out of the water. A great tentacle reaches out and slams the ship, knocking us all down, the second sailor falling off the edge and into the beast's mouth. The mast snaps off in the crash and falls to the sea. The crew and I staring in shock.

"Quickly now!"

We all climb aboard the lifeboat. The beast takes another bite out of the ship, wood crushing in its beak, flying in all directions. I untie the rope fast and lifeboat drops. Mear meters away we dangle the rope in a knot and the end of of the pulley.

“Cut the damn thing!” The third spoke out in fear.

We dropped again, and the sailors paddle fast out into the storm climbing the mountainous waves. I look back, a crew of 15, and only 3 souls remain, no water, no rations, no land in sight.

The sea calmed, and storm started to clear. Dawn broke, the sun catching my eye, I blink and I'm home, looking at the same sunrise from my kitchen window. A small painting of the ocean resting on the sill. I've spent my life writing, capturing great adventures in the ink of my pen, studying those around me. Never living life outside my daydreams. Envious of the lives too bold to live off paper.