Morning all and welcome to Tuesday’s writing prompt. I don’t know about you, but I am ready to go. I always like the simple sentences. There are always so many different places my brain can take them that it is fun to see what comes out in the end. So lets set those timers for fifteen and get going. Ready, Set, Write.
Well that was interesting. Apparently my brain was thinking shipwreck and hurricane. I wonder why? I thought it might take me to the woods, but apparently not. Go figure.
Tuesday, November 10th: There was little shelter to be found.
There was little shelter to be found on the rocky barren coast. A glance to the sky told him that shelter would soon be needed and needed badly. He had seen skies like this before. It wasn’t just a thunderstorm coming. The air was clogged with moisture and his head pounded with the pressure around him. A cursory glance might tell someone that a storm was imminent, but that was only the front runner. That was a hurricane sky. He could feel it in the air. He couldn’t pin point exactly what it was, maybe it was the way the wind blew or the way it would suddenly go calm as if it was waiting, gathering it’s strength. He looked away and dismissed the reasons for his one more basic concern.
He needed shelter.
‘I also need to get away from the sea.’ He thought. He turned his steps away from the water, looking away from the wreckage that brought him to shore and began trudging inland. His leg was pained by the gash in his calf where something sliced deep, but now was not the time to examine it. Now he had to watch his footing lest he step wrong and twist his ankle. A busted ankle would slow him down more than the now throbbing cut.
Mercifully the rocks gave way to grass. It was the long stringy beach grass that stood up stiffly and whipped against his legs like thin bladed knives. Luckily these blades were not sharp enough to cut through his pants. His calf was whipped to white hot agony though as many bladed found their way into the tear left by whatever sliced his leg.
‘It’s like they aim for it, he thought wincing as yet another blade raked across his flesh. He grit his teeth and kept moving. The sand beneath the long bladed beach grass slowed his steps nearly as much as picking his way through the rocks. His knees began to ache with the effort, but the wind grew stronger and he knew he was running out of time. His eyes didn’t bother to turn skyward; instead they scanned the land in front of him.
A flat plain met his gaze, but in the distance he thought he saw some sort of outcropping. Whatever it was, it was the only possibility for shelter, so he turned his steps in that direction and forced his way forward. As grass petered out and the land became more solid, beginning to mix in dirt with the sand. The walking was easier. The grass became shorter. It no longer raked sharp fingers across his cut. While his leg didn’t’ feel better the lack of constant attack felt almost like a lessening of pain and with firmer ground beneath him and less pain, he was able to move more quickly.
The shadowy form began to become clearer as he approached. It was a large boulder. Not much use to him, but as he approached, he could see beyond it. There the land rose. It was still rocky and inhospitable, but it looked as though there were caves. ‘Climb,’ he ordered himself as he reached the sloping ground. If there was a cave to hide in he needed to find one on higher ground. A glance into the lower ones proved they still had a lot of water in them. He had no doubt that the approaching storm would flood these caves as it hit. He had no desire to escape drowning in the sea only to have the sea come for him when he thought he was safe. He forced his tiered and protesting body to reach a higher point on the land. To find a safe place even as the first drops of rain began to fall.
Ten til Midnight 