Dark Pleasures

Smack dab in the middle of Canada, we’re feeling the bite of winter, and up to our eyeballs in snow. Gotta love living in a place where snowblowers, winter tires, and a working furnace are key to surviving the Canadian winter.

For me, bundled in my cozy “Game of Thrones” blanket, listening to good tunes, and sipping on a hot coffee, I suddenly felt inspired. I know, it’s weird, but thas how I roll. šŸ˜

Athough it’s been a while since I last posted on my blog, I’m always expressing my creative energy in one way or another. Lately, I’ve gotten back to dabbling with creative snippet writing exercises; I grab an image from online and let my imagination go. The nice thing about these exercises is that I can go on for as long as I want, or just create a brief snapshot of whatever pops into my head. Yup, yup, I love it!

Dark Pleasures

Dawn pierced through dense, gray clouds, and tendrils of light danced and sparkled upon choppy water. Broken timber and broken bodies crack the water’s surface, bobbed, then disappeared, only to break the surface again beneath the turbulent tutelage of the ocean.

Canvas snapped overhead. Mast timber creaked and moaned. Ropes groaned and strained. Feet planted upon a roughly hewn deck, the stance wide, guarded against the sway and roll of the ship. Blackened wood and masts remained hidden from view, obscured by a dingy overcast. The distant ships were unaware they had an observer.

Blue eyes watched the line of ships in the distance with interest. Their struggle amused him. The storm reeked havoc upon their fleet, the loss of life was staggering. He put the spyglass to his eye again. At the moment, he didn’t need to do a thing; Mother Nature in all her glory was taking care of things for him. The cries of the dying tickled his senses. He wondered if Farrow was amongst them. But no matter, if the sea did not swallow his miserable hide, the blue-eyed man would allow him to taste his cutlass.

His own ship rocked and pitched in the raucous ocean, and he was soaked to the bone. But he had absolute faith in his crew. His men moved quickly and silently, tending to his ship’s every need, allowing their captain his small pleasure. The captain tucked the spyglass into his belt and nodded at his first mate.

“To shore, Mr. Talbot,” the captain ordered. “We shall tend to the tempest’s leavings on the morrow.”


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