post really, really, really short stories.

Pirates and Priests

Matthew 16:2-3
He replied, “When evening comes, you say, ‘It will be fair weather, for the sky is red,’ and in the morning, ‘Today it will be stormy, for the sky is red and overcast.’ You know how to interpret the appearance of the sky, but you cannot interpret the signs of the times.”

Black clouds grab and take away your breath, but stand firm in the angry gale. The blood and fire of your life paint the sky with red regret and gray intentions. Cast your gold and silver aside to the storm to pay for this punishment. But the rain doesn’t wait for question or excuse; the dark waters inside you run silent, run deep. When Ocean’s mouth opens wide, the abyss will be your heart and thunder will be the hand to wake you. But you have found your strength between hurricane and harbor, as both claim to set you free. Pirates and Priests will finally learn they can’t rewrite the stories of the sky. The sun is empty! The stars are dim! And the moon overflows for you, forever!

Six Waves

In the place between holding on and letting go, you find yourself upon distant shores. The waves open their arms and bring you safely home. You deign to walk upon the broken beaches and write your own stories in the dust, but they wash away to the ocean by morning. Satisfy the sands by returning your wreckage to where it first came from, as each crest of wave claws another piece of you away. The Moon will echo back your shouts of rage with a turn of the tide, shining back the things you want and may never have. Tide’s reach is far and strong, though it leaves you alone this gleaming night. The Ocean’s breathe roars for your return, but silver shores will never let you go.

Adrift

Clutching pride and driftwood, slowly wander through open oceans. Tread water and wait for an absolution that will never come. But in these seas, the tide has the eyes of Fate; with a blink, grey clouds will part and you find bright and smiling stars. For once follow the lights upon crystal seas like a map written for you in the dark. In the unmarked waters, fleets of old have run aground far from land or limb of tree. For their charts are written dull and faded. You, instead, have found home in the heavens when the whisper of wind would fall on ears of anyone but you.

Sons of Salt and Sea

sail high my friend, and with reverence to the weather gauge. be vigilant in the late night watch; douse the lamps and wait for morning. For the horizon holds the future! Fore and Aft are inching together but the sea will never claim you. the low decks will give way and and the main mast be swallowed up in the water but a Starboard Sun rises and your stormy seas will settle. the deep is not your resting place, but a watery grave for a restless man named Memory. Let him speak to you with whispers in the ocean breeze and simply sail away toward friendly shores.

Trade Winds

The sky will never hurt you, save leave you broken on the ground and face up towards the heavens. Breathe in the open air and know that a leap of faith from jagged cliffs is simply to grow a pair of wings. A gentle breeze can carry you off and let you fly; you will soar through stars and suns to the other side of paradise. But speak an angry word with the very gift it gave you to beg for more, and learn that a tempest grows wild with the winds.

The sky is fleeting but always fair.

Dylan walked under the cobalt sky and didnt care to look up at the rain clouds forming above him.

“I think i felt a raindrop,” shouted his brother Eric over the roar of the highway. The shiny cars speeding by them would tossle their hair each time, like wind on top of more wind.

“Just on the other side of the bridge. We are almost there.” Dylan shifted the backpack he was carrying. His dirty clothes from the night before were getting heavy, still filthy from the countless alcoholic beverages that were inadvertantly spilled on him at the party.

He thought he was stronger than that; he’d made plans for those parties. Avoiding the keg in the corner, walking away from his wilder friends, sitting passively on a lonely couch when need be. but he turned out to be weak. now even the lightest string backpack was hard for to him hold up.

“Dylan, im sorry! i talked you into it. This isnt you fau-”

Dylan stopped in the middle of the steel, suspension bridge and turned around. He rigidly stared at Eric for a second, investigating his grief. He knew that his brother hadn’t learned a thing. But even the dark waters he plummeted into knew that Eric was deeply sorry.

the time came and disappeared too fast. i was in pain not feeling my arms drag beside me. i moved, or at least i thought i did, when i heard a voice with a bright light. i fell into something. it was more comfortable, far more indescribable than anything ive ever felt before. it was better than sleep and more than love. it was your arms O Lord!