The Lost Ship
April 14, 1780
The bank of the river ended in a curve, it’s soft sand covered the earth, as the clear cold water rushed over it when the small waves came crushing in. The long forests stretched on and on behind the bank of sand. The sun piercing it’s green leaves blowing in the wind, it’s branches and roots old from age, but still holding up strong. There the ship lay, stuck on the bank, with an eerie mist around it, coursing across the top of the river. No flags or colors of a nation, the ship was blank. There were no ropes coming from the deck, no foot prints in the sand, nothing indicating that people had left the ship and explored. It’s sails stood still, even with the rough wind barring down onto them. The stern of the ship lay restless in the water, the bow had sunk into the sand, dividing it. The interior of the ship was filled bottom to top with crates, crates of emptiness, nothing in them. Cannons lay on each side, facing outward, but there was no gun powder or cannon balls in sight. In the very back of the intertior, lay a chest, it’s wood was rotten from time and dirt. Inside the chest, was a small piece of paper, an invitation to a tea party.
-- Written by me. Opinions?
April 14, 1780
The bank of the river ended in a curve, it’s soft sand covered the earth, as the clear cold water rushed over it when the small waves came crushing in. The long forests stretched on and on behind the bank of sand. The sun piercing it’s green leaves blowing in the wind, it’s branches and roots old from age, but still holding up strong. There the ship lay, stuck on the bank, with an eerie mist around it, coursing across the top of the river. No flags or colors of a nation, the ship was blank. There were no ropes coming from the deck, no foot prints in the sand, nothing indicating that people had left the ship and explored. It’s sails stood still, even with the rough wind barring down onto them. The stern of the ship lay restless in the water, the bow had sunk into the sand, dividing it. The interior of the ship was filled bottom to top with crates, crates of emptiness, nothing in them. Cannons lay on each side, facing outward, but there was no gun powder or cannon balls in sight. In the very back of the intertior, lay a chest, it’s wood was rotten from time and dirt. Inside the chest, was a small piece of paper, an invitation to a tea party.
-- Written by me. Opinions?