When I was twelve I went to sea, aboard a small ship. They hired me to clean and sweep and feed the men, in exchange they said they would take me across the ocean to the new world.
A week or two after shipping out, a storm rose on the horizon. The wind she blew and rain she fell and waves crashed into the sides.
The captain went first, and then his crew, leaving just me and another, a drunk.
The sails were torn, and the bow was pierced, the hull became full of water. Neither of us knew how to sail, but we managed to land on an island.
The ship crashed into the beach, and tipped and we spilled out. We rolled through the shore and across the sand and stopped in the waist high grass.
We built a fire and tried to dry, sitting close together.
The sun went down and we heard a cry, and huddled even closer.
Footsteps came through the grass, tall dark men in rags.
The drunk hid behind me and pushed me toward their spears. I spun and dropped and felt the sharp edge whiz past my ear. I heard a gurgle and turned to see the drunk on with the

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CraigTowsley (joined almost 12 years ago)
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I think this site is like a power juicer to the armadillo-skinned oranges of writer's block.

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adventure chanty

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When I was 12, I went to sea.
Prompt suggested by Galen

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