Pinwheel (a short story by myself)

Discussion in 'Writers Forum' started by Meeshka Chaukinov, Jun 19, 2006.

  1. Meeshka Chaukinov

    Meeshka Chaukinov Senior Member

    Yea, I wrote this last week when I felt inspired. Have a look.



    Fabian had been sitting on the rock for 4 days. His fishing boat had encountered some high waves which sent the vessel againt the rocky coast of a small island. All Fabian still has in his possession was a small battery powered fan powered by a small AAA battery. It was sweltering hot, maybe 95 degrees or so, and the sky was clear, save for bands of high cirrus clouds on the southeastern horizon. Fabian found the hear unbearable. He turned on his battery powered fan. For it's size, it had the capacity to produce a mightily strong wind. The rushing wind gave the isolated fisherman a small amount of comfort. Fabian stood up, looking for some defense from the sun's scowl. As he moved his hand to right himself, he accidentally nicked his left index finger with the blade of the fan, drawing a small trickle of blood in the process. Fabian swore under his breath, turned off his fan, and proceeded to nurse the wound using his filthy clothing.

    The day was sweltering hot, and bands of cirrus clouds lied on the southeast horizon. The hypnotizing roar of the ocean pounding against the rocks beckoned Fabian to cool himself off. Fabian removed his clothing quickly and climbed down into the ocean. This was low tide, with nothing but a light breeze blowing, but the waves seemed eerily high. Fabian's finger stung sharply for a couple of seconds, then the pain subsided as the flecks of dirt and fabric were washed out of the wound. The ocean was not too terribly comforting. The exhausted fisherman was shoved around and had to fight his way back in to get to shore. As he relaxed in the shade, he continued his now regular routine of staring off to sea, cirrus clouds at his back with some rising lower altitude clouds beginning to appear, staring to the northwest in hopes that a fishing liner or cruise ship would tour the area, hoping that his lone water-logged flare would still have the capacity to fire in the event that he had a shot at salvation. As hours went by, Fabian drifted in and out of a troubled sleep. One of his many awakening was caused by the sound of an airplane going nearly directly overhead. Fabian stood up and looked more closely to see 'P-3' painted on the side of it. He grabbed around for his lone water-logged flare and fired it. Nothing happened. Fabian swore under his breath as he watched the craft fly towards the growing number of clouds on the horizon, lied down on his back, and stared in frustration at the wispy cirrus directly above him.

    Fabian was woken up the next morning to a lack of sunlight and the undersides of towering storm clouds above him. Rain was pouring down in sheets, and the light breeze of yesterday had transitioned into a gale. Fabian swore under his breath and stood up to attempt to seek a better shelter. There was no better shelter. The isolated fisherman was standing up looking out to sea, watching the fury of the ocean pounding against the rocks and rising to levels that made him even more uncomfortable. A powerful gust of wind pummeled him to the ground, dragging him for a couple of meters. A stream of blood oozed from his lacerated arm as he lied on the ground and listened to the blaring of the devil's flute in his ears; droning, warbling, howling; his skin being blasted with wet sand and the salty brine of the sea. As Fabian managed to right himself, he was silent, and watched his useless flare-gun blown into the sea. A piece of driftwood. A sharp blow to the back of the skull. The bastardly symphony had reached it's peak. Fabian lied on the ground, the water nearly on top of him at this point. Lifeless. The waves cleansed the island with radiant intensity. The sky cleared, the sun shining brilliantly down through the heavens at the end of a long tunnel of clouds. Fabian was nowhere to be found, his sould lifted through the updraft in the center of the pinwheel, his body cut down by the blades.
     
  2. TrippinBTM

    TrippinBTM Ramblin' Man

    I like it, most of it reads like Jack London. Only thing was the end moved a bit too fast

    "Fabian lied on the ground, the water nearly on top of him at this point. Lifeless. The waves cleansed the island with radiant intensity. The sky cleared, the sun shining brilliantly down through the heavens at the end of a long tunnel of clouds. Fabian was nowhere to be found, his sould lifted through the updraft in the center of the pinwheel, his body cut down by the blades."

    especially between "Lifeless." and "The waves cleansed..." there seems to be a bit of a discontinuity. Also, you kept saying "lied" but it sounds weird to me, is it the right usage? Maybe it's just me.
     

Share This Page


  1. This site uses cookies to help personalise content, tailor your experience and to keep you logged in if you register.
    By continuing to use this site, you are consenting to our use of cookies.
    Dismiss Notice