The Stories of an Immortal
written by Aimée Rose
Random short stories about different adventures in a variety of places, times and situations, from the perspective of a time travelling immortal.
Last Updated
05/31/21
Chapters
30
Reads
1,150
My Lonely Shipwreck
Chapter 22
An immense ship emerged through the mist, towering above the icy sea. Sails swung silently while ropes danced around like vines in the cool breeze. Strong and muscular, the captain stands tall, roaring to her crew as they struggle to control the ship as it glides into treacherous waters.
Like a lion, she refuses to give up, growling at the colossal waves which were expanding by the minute. Howling wind bites her delicate ears and clouds hang low, swirling through the masts. Wooden planks begin to creak as the ocean starts to devour the ship.
The captain can taste the acidic flavour of fear in her mouth while the scent of doom approaches. Rain patters onto her already frozen hands, which turn to blocks of ice. Dashing across the slippery surface, she glares at her shipmates, making sure they’re all safe and sound.
Suddenly, a piercing scream rips through the air, sending cold shivers down everyone’s backs. The first of many vicious waves smash through the ship, destroying everything in its path.
It was my ship. The one I dared to set foot upon and sail all the seas. I never meant to come back to here. That was another story I didn’t want to return to, another story I just wanted to forget. It almost worked.
But there was this young girl, she wanted to be a mermaid, so I showed her the sea. I showed her the fish and the plants and the shells and the rocks and the sand, yet I overlooked the wreckages and the ruins and the destruction and the pain.
I didn’t know it crashed. I didn’t know it was lost. I thought we had both moved on; me and the ship. Apparently not. Apparently, only a few weeks after I left, there was a storm. A big one. One that would never permit a vessel like that to survive. One that would beat a boat to a pulp. One that was boisterous and silent, soul-crushing and blithe.
The crew all died. Obviously. I found their withered skeletons, half hidden under bleak, coarse sand, though I at least made sure the mermaid-in-training stayed well away. She didn’t, would never, could never understand. Not properly, not entirely. No one could ever understand the true meaning behind my lonely shipwreck.
Like a lion, she refuses to give up, growling at the colossal waves which were expanding by the minute. Howling wind bites her delicate ears and clouds hang low, swirling through the masts. Wooden planks begin to creak as the ocean starts to devour the ship.
The captain can taste the acidic flavour of fear in her mouth while the scent of doom approaches. Rain patters onto her already frozen hands, which turn to blocks of ice. Dashing across the slippery surface, she glares at her shipmates, making sure they’re all safe and sound.
Suddenly, a piercing scream rips through the air, sending cold shivers down everyone’s backs. The first of many vicious waves smash through the ship, destroying everything in its path.
It was my ship. The one I dared to set foot upon and sail all the seas. I never meant to come back to here. That was another story I didn’t want to return to, another story I just wanted to forget. It almost worked.
But there was this young girl, she wanted to be a mermaid, so I showed her the sea. I showed her the fish and the plants and the shells and the rocks and the sand, yet I overlooked the wreckages and the ruins and the destruction and the pain.
I didn’t know it crashed. I didn’t know it was lost. I thought we had both moved on; me and the ship. Apparently not. Apparently, only a few weeks after I left, there was a storm. A big one. One that would never permit a vessel like that to survive. One that would beat a boat to a pulp. One that was boisterous and silent, soul-crushing and blithe.
The crew all died. Obviously. I found their withered skeletons, half hidden under bleak, coarse sand, though I at least made sure the mermaid-in-training stayed well away. She didn’t, would never, could never understand. Not properly, not entirely. No one could ever understand the true meaning behind my lonely shipwreck.
