Posts Tagged ‘freestyle writing’

Written by:
Wendi Friend
*NOTE: Contains Profanities*

Waves had no mercy as they tossed the drenched soul to and fro, dunking him in his own madness. Refusing to drown, the sailor fought for air, prayed for hope, and gripped firmly to every moment. While fighting to keep life, he also managed to find time to analyze and criticize every aspect of life – from the flavor of the morning coffee to the bastard at the electric company who didn’t know how to do his fucking job. Still the sailor struggled to find the light of day from beneath the ocean’s wrath. Though he chastised the Gods and challenged the Goddesses, though he found happiness in nothing, though he sought to self-destruct at any given moment while on dry ground, he fought like the dickens to save his own hide with the waves beating the crap out of him, cursing out the universe all the while. Go figure. And yet, there’s an ere about him that makes you want to reach right into the water, scoop him up into your arms, wrap him tightly in a warm blanket, and serve him warm vegetable soup while he tells you wicked tails of his adventures at sea. You’re full of questions you hope he’ll answer while he lights the pipe you’re sure he has hiding somewhere on his person, remarkably dry and ready for smoking.

You have to admire his strength, really. Think about it, the entire ocean is trying to take him down and he will just not keep his head below water! He’s like Popeye or something with amazing strength, although nicotine and caffeine do hardly a can of spinach make. Nonetheless, he’s got reserves of strength somewhere because he just keeps popping his head above water long enough to take a big gulp of air, and then down he goes again, using all the strength in his arms, legs, lungs, heart, and soul to stay close enough for, “… just… one… more… breath.” He didn’t even waste any energy by screaming out for help, just silently prayed to who knows what (‘cause he was cursing everything else in the universe out), and struggled to survive.

You wonder how he got in the water in the first place. If he’s such a great sailor and he’s so unbelievably strong, then how in nature’s womb did he fall out of a damned boat? Speaking of boats, where’s the boat he fell out of? Was he pushed off by pirates who sailed away with his treasures? Did a raging storm come crashing down and rip his boat to shreds, leaving nothing but toothpicks? What’s his story?

Well, you never do get time enough to ask the lad his lot in life because lucky for him God heard his prayers and sent along a little wooden raft with pigmies on board. They didn’t speak English and had on barely any clothes, but no matter, it was salvation! Blessed be the sailor whose connection with Deity was such that prayers were directly answered and a raft was sent to save his sorry complaining ass from drowning. Good thing the gods have a sense of humor – and because they do, they sent pigmies in loin cloths on a ratty ass raft. Nonetheless, they came for him and he was saved.

The sailor, dripping wet and shivering to the bone, hoisted himself upon the raft, gasping for breath before glancing up at his rescuers. Once he’d caught his breath, he shifted his position to sit upright, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the condition of what he considered a mere floatation device crafted from poor workmanship. That’s when he noticed the big, dark-skinned, hairy toes on the feet next to him. Naked toes, followed by thin, bony, unclothed legs, and… Oh, for heaven’s sakes! Loincloths! The sailor shook his head, making somewhat of a “tsk tsk” sound of contempt. One pigmy offers the sailor a fresh fish for food, but the fish is whole, barely dead, and a might small compared to the likes of what the sailor used to catch. Disinterested, the sailor waves away the fish, turning his head in disapproval. With that, he found himself back in the water.

Merciless waves crashed down upon the old sailor once again, submerging him in darkness, tossing him about like an old rag doll. Still, between gasps for air, he found time to criticize the pigmy race and what he considered to be their pathetic lifestyle of floating around on makeshift rafts in nothing but loincloths while gnawing on raw fish. The thought of it disgusted the old man. Nonetheless, he managed to holler out once or twice, if not out loud then in prayer, for help to come and rescue him from his own misery. Miraculously, a helicopter happened to fly over the man, flying low and offering a rope. The old sailor swam away from the rope, terrified of heights and refusing to take hold. The helicopter hovered for some time trying to aid the old sailor who was fighting for his life, but the old sailor, victim of his own fear of heights, would not cooperate and waved the rope away, so the helicopter had no choice but to go on its way, leaving the sailor behind in the raging waters.

As one might imagine, the sailor soon drowned. While his body drifted away to become one with the ocean, his spirit entered through the great gates, following the white light, to meet with the All that Is. When in front of his God, the sailor, who never thought to kneel, bow, or start with something simple like, “Hi”, immediately lashed out at God for allowing him to die, “I don’t know why I thought you’d come to my rescue; you left your own son to die…” but then cuts himself short in mid sentence and changes the direction of conversation all together.

“You know, this isn’t at all what I thought heaven would look like. What have you got the thermostat set on? It’s really chilly up here. I was expecting diamonds, gold, and pearls; this place looks more like a Hollywood mansion badly decorated by some gay t.v. personality. – pastels, really?”

And with that, the old sailor found himself cast from Heaven, headed for a warmer climate with more fiery décor.

What kind of character would it take to get himself kicked out of hell? How could you grate on the nerves of Satan so bad that even he can’t stand to be in the same room with you? Tell him old fishing stories, laced with arrogance and ignorance, for the rest of eternity. Boast about how you’re the God of the seas, and the God of the seas ye shall be. So the sailor was cast out of hell, and back into the waters in which he’d already drowned. This is where his soul remains today… eternally drowning in his own misery because nothing on Earth, in Heaven, or in Hell could meet his expectations – and his character was toxic to everything.

When sailing on the ocean of emotion, riding the waves of experience and passion, keep an ear out… you just may hear the moans, cries, and complaints of the lost sailor.

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