Fleet ‘Emily!’

She was on her knees now as he swam the last yards to the shore. He was exhausted, heavy and felt as much a part of the elements as he was within himself.

‘Perhaps,’ he thought out loud, ‘I was always here. Always now,’ he swallowed water, choked, the brackish salty water tasted like the metallic skies that raced over head.

Emily’s screaming pulled him from his introspection, and his focus wavered as the remaining waters pulled him towards the berm.

‘No! No!’ She screamed as the ship towered above her, a great, fragile skeleton, it’s sails torn, it’s masts broken like matchsticks. He could see it clearly, in every detail,  as he clambered, bedraggled up the slope, the leaning, rolling ship magnified by the lens of roaring air above the shifting shingle.

‘No! No! No!’ She cried out again, flinging her arms like branches of an abandoned tree in the gale, bereft of leaves and hope as she looked out to the anonymous storm and the raging sea.

He slipped and fell as he struggled towards her.

‘Emily! Emily!’ He shouted, fiercely against the rapture of the wind.

‘Emily! Emily!’

The stones were like heavy plates of inertia as her overcame his own and weight and seemingly the weight of the world he lifted himself into the full force of the storm. The raindrop were like stinging bullets, the wind raged against his very being, pushing, pressing, pummelling his body, his hope, his soul, as he stumbled towards her.

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