“This is home to me,” the gruffy old man said to his elderly, pale dog named Walter. “I have always lived here, and I have always loved it, greatly..” He approached the stern of the largely magnificent, overpowering ship made out of once-strong and sturdy wood; now weak and frail. He gazed off into the deep blue fields of fright, dreams, terror, and joy. He has spent all of his 78 years of living aboard this ship, accompanied by no one, except his pal Walter, and the mighty sea creatures below him. He’s never considered leaving it behind, and the thought of living in the outside world strikes fear inside of him. If there was ever a beautiful woman in this man’s life, who treated him in all the right ways, and loved him in ways that no ordinary human being could, it was this, all of this. The vast waters, the brutal skies, the scent of the sour sea salt that made the man’s nose crunch up, and then put him at ease. This was his Monroe.
“Getting windy out, Walt,” he said to the pooch. Indeed, it was getting windy, among other things. It started to drizzle. That drizzle turned into a downpour. Thunder started to roar from the Gods, and lightning struck in the distance. The ship began to rock back and forth with great fierce, but nothing the man hadn’t seen before. The man took one final look out onto his home, amidst the vast plains of blue, the harsh skies, his brittle ship. He entered the ship’s cabin, and gently shut the door behind him. He sat down in his broken down, green chair that he bought from a pawn shop somewhere along the coast. Walter laid down at his side. They both waited, patiently, quietly, content with life.
They might as well have never existed.
I wrote this piece of shit in my notebook during class in about five minutes; please don't knock me too hard for it.
“Getting windy out, Walt,” he said to the pooch. Indeed, it was getting windy, among other things. It started to drizzle. That drizzle turned into a downpour. Thunder started to roar from the Gods, and lightning struck in the distance. The ship began to rock back and forth with great fierce, but nothing the man hadn’t seen before. The man took one final look out onto his home, amidst the vast plains of blue, the harsh skies, his brittle ship. He entered the ship’s cabin, and gently shut the door behind him. He sat down in his broken down, green chair that he bought from a pawn shop somewhere along the coast. Walter laid down at his side. They both waited, patiently, quietly, content with life.
They might as well have never existed.
I wrote this piece of shit in my notebook during class in about five minutes; please don't knock me too hard for it.
