Sheba

This is a story I wrote a few years back, making a legend out of an afternoon spent at the Ruttger’s house, attending to maneuver an old half-floating dock section from the shore of the lake out to their raft where the rest of the people were playing king of the hill. It really was quite the adventure. No embellishment is used at all here. I swear.

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We had yet another hundred leagues to go before we reached our destination, the floating island of Mettalia, where legends told tales of giants battling for dominion, toppling each other off into the blue depths, only to claw back on and renew the battle in a ceaseless war.

The sun burned in the sky, and winds tore across the quavering ocean as we struggled onward. It doesn’t help to have a boat full of holes. But that made no difference to us, the crew of four. Weather-worn, sweat stained, and sinking fast, we piloted our marvelous craft. Sheba; the terror of the high seas. (and the low ones too) T’was I, my hair dripping with the water from the spray, captaining the ship; the short, red haired and fiery tempered deck hand; the wild and brown-haired boson; and last but not least, the golden haired beauty who for some reason insisted on sitting with her legs thrust through a gaping hole in the craft, being of absolutely no help at all; each longing to reach Mettalia and claim its shining glory our own. At one point, the crew had been larger, but many had abandoned ship in fear of the dangers that came with the quest, or had been thrown overboard by the wiles of the seas and our treacherous craft. We few that were left had paid the price to cross these forty (million, of course) feet of water, and were determined to complete the journey.

Despite the shrinking crew and our ebbing strength, we forged forward toward Mettalia, where the giants still raged and sent waves emanating from as they cast each other into the water, sending mighty geysers skywards. Sheba toppled before one massive breaker, but luckily the crew was quick, and instead of attempting to stop the craft from being overthrown, we simply leaned with the weight, and allowed her to roll completely over. At this the blonde smiled and laughed uproariously while the boson coughed up water and wiped sea weed from his face. The horrors were taken in stride, and once we gathered our wits, we struck off again.

The boson stood in an attempt to catch clearer glimpse of the island, but was caught off balance. He hung for a moment, wobbling as I reached out to grab his hand, but it was too late. He toppled into the sea as we all looked on. I, the sea-hardened captain, was about to make the difficult decision and leave another man behind, but our deck hand, brave soul he was, dove after the boson without a backwards glance. He reached the flailing red head, who grabbed him and promptly drug him down under the water. I was sure we’d lost two good men where we could have lost only one. But lo and behold, after what seemed infinitely long, the deck hand arose from beneath the waves, dragging the boson back to the only slightly safer hull of Sheba. Both lay on the broken boards of the ship’s deck, gasping for breath. We moved slowly onward, the shores from which we departed now barely visible to our sun-blinded eyes.

It took days to reach our destination, with many more great adventures along the way. However, to our great disappointment the legends of Mettalia had been untrue. The giants were mere men, caught in and endless fight over a resting place on the island’s blue shores. The stories had been spun by countless sailors who had passed by, hearing the loud sounds that rose from their fighting, and had grown the tale from there. Our crew had quite the ride of it though, and now, as I write this, we sit on Mettalia’s shores, dangling our weary legs down into the deep waters around her, with our faithful ship tied to one of the many outcroppings on the island’s cliff-like shores. We will rest here for a time, then perhaps strike out to further, more legendary places in this ocean. May whoever reads this seek such adventure, for it is a glorious freedom to ride the waves and risk ones life and limb in order to reach a high goal.

Truly,
The Captain