Stranded - A Pirate's Tale - part 1

11. Clinging to the rail

Flow was running and he was running fast. His bare feet slapped the cobblestones, careless of dirt, soiled water, or excretions of all nature and origin. Even wood splinters and shards of glass were harmless to his soles, hard and calloused after months spent on the decks and in the shrouds of the Lady. He threw his long, rope-like legs in long strides, trying not to totter each time his feet touched the ground. Men on board had told him that weeks at sea would do that, but Flow suspected that rum wasn't helping his stability.

Stable or not, he was running like his life depended on it. In fact, maybe a life was depending on it.

It was still early in the morning, but the streets were already bursting with people going on various errands. Flow had to weave more and more frequently between them so as not to lose momentum. From time to time, collisions were unavoidable and he had to swirl away before running again, under indistinct invectives. By the time he yelled "scuze me!" he was already yards away.

The harbor-and the ship-was not that far away, but the town had grown chaotically since the first settlers had arrived on these not-so-welcoming shores. Now the streets formed a maze in which Flow was turning 'round, trying to find the fastest way to the sea. Following the gentle slope of the hill where Puerto Seguro had spread like an ugly tumor, he finally arrived on the docks. Running was not an option anymore.

Carts and crates and trunks were everywhere, moved about in an organized chaos by bulky shirtless dockers yelling at each other, cursing or grunting. Luckily, Flow was slender enough to make his way through this vivid shamble. Sliding between workmen, slipping under unloaded cargo, climbing over stored merchandise, he managed to reach the ship's gangway with scratches and bruises kept to a minimum. He knew that the lookout had already warned everyone on-board that he was approaching, but no one came to welcome him while he caught his breath, panting and clinging to the rail. No one was in sight on the main deck. Jade was surely in her cabin, studying big books full of pictures Flow was not sure he wanted to understand. But where the hell was Alexandra?

The belch took him by surprise. His breath came out fetid, smelling like a drunken nightmare, and suddenly, the world started to spin around him. He only managed to stay on his feet thanks to the rail, which his hand grasped even more firmly, desperately. The headache struck as if a knitting needle had been thrust into his forehead through his eye. He gagged once or twice, but he had nothing left in his belly. Sour stomach juice reached the back of his throat and stayed there, sending fire into his lungs with each gasp. Flow slapped his own face, trying to make the world right itself again, but only managed to push the needle deeper into his skull. He swore to himself never to drink again. To anyone else, he just swore, loudly.

"Please don't pass out on me too!"

Flow turned around to face Jade's patient stare. He tried to stand back up, but the ship rocked under his feet and his knees failed him. Once again, the rail prevented him from falling for good.

"Oh! 'Ey Doc! You're good?"

"Better than you, apparently. How is the hangover?"

"Just great! I feel like my skull iz shrinkeen and like my brain iz tryeen to flee trough my eye sockets."

"Feels good, right?"

Flow burped again and Jade laughed. "You look like you're sucking a rotten lemon."

"It tastes exactly like zat. Please kill me..."

"You're young, kid! Chew some coffee beans and it will soon be over. So, who kicked you out of bed?"

"O'Ma did!"

Flow's eyes grew wider as he remembered why he had run despite his alcohol-induced morning death wish.

"Where iz Alexandra?"

Header by FayLane

Last update on May 3rd 2019