Short Stories

Captain James Cook

As he coughed and spluttered, I passed him some water, “drink up,” I said, seductively. He looked up, lust filling his deep brown eyes. His age was beginning to show as the third week of being on this boring old ship started to wear him down. I downed the peas I had remaining on my plate and he slipped his hand into mine. “Sebastion,” I said, sighing. “This isn’t the time for this…” I noticed he had some not-so-stale biscuits in his hand, probably the only ones on the god-forsaken boat. “I couldn’t….” I said, thinking of his health instead of mine

The rotten fruits were sprawled over the old table, “Here,” my fellow seaman passed me a clean looking piece of fruit. I blushed, “thank you,”

I looked at the rotting fruit in front of me, “No matter how good Captain Cook is, the food will always suck,” I sighed picking up the stale biscuit that sat on the barrel. “The food would suck on any ship, I’ve heard Cook’s is the best quality, just imagine the rest,” My new friend I met on the ship replied. I shivered in disgust just thinking about eating the crap the other ship men must have to eat. “We should be grateful we aren’t them,” he said, and we both laughed.