The steps are some way away to the left of where we’re standing. The wall is high, not as high as I’d imagined, but overhung by a steep grass slope. ‘How did you get here, then? Washed up by the tide, were you?’ ‘I’m sorry I slept in your boat. I was frightened and it looked safe.’ ‘You’re not the first to sleep down here. It happens every year. People use this beach like a doss house sometimes. I’m thinking of putting a pillow and a blanket in the boat and charging rent.’
And now it comes back to me in a rush: staggering down the steps to the beach, throwing off my shoes and backpack, running into the sea. I can’t swim. I never even paddle. I’d laid down under whirling stars in a sky as mad and alive as a Van Gogh painting, and dared
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As if I didn’t know. As if the memory of my self-destructive gesture doesn’t make me sick with the thought of what might have happened.
‘Why were you on the beach, anyway? It’s a dangerous place to be at night.’ ‘I was drunk. I wanted to get away from the man I came with. He’d laughed every time someone got splattered in the films.’
‘Well, that stuff’s tongue in cheek. Most people laugh at it.’
‘Not when it’s a child….’ and I have to stop. I see her again, see her luminous eyes and yellow hair.
‘She was in my dream, the girl in the film. We were in the sea together. She clung onto me and then she let go, as if she was too tired to hold on any longer. I didn’t save her. I could have held onto her, caught her, but I let her go.’
He’s looking away to sea, and twisting at a band on his wrist, turning it obsessively.
‘In your dream. You didn’t save her in your dream,’ he says, and his voice is flat. ‘It was just a dream.’
He looks at me briefly, snaps his eyes at me, and I realise it’s the first time he’s looked at me directly.
‘You must have been in a right state, walking into the sea like that, especially in the dark, and on your own. The sea is dangerous. People get into difficulties all the time.’
‘I was upset …’ He doesn’t let me
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I tell him about my own lost girl. We turn our chairs around to face each other, and our knees touch, and then our hands.
I text Mike, telling him I’ll make my own way home and take the train back to London the next morning. I’m sorry to leave. I’ve fallen in love with Whitby, with its heroic past and its brave determination to survive in a changing world. I stare out at the landscape sliding past me: at the wooded hills, the rushing brown water over jagged rocks, the small perfect villages. We meet up in London, a week later, Nick and I, and for a year, we travelled between his town and mine. He was uncomfortable in London, and I was uncomfortable for him. We loved each other for a while, but I loved my life in London more, and he belonged in Whitby. He shared its prosaic public face and its dark soul. Maybe we were wrong to give each other up, to let each other go so easily. I think of him often and when I do, I hear the sound of waves, and catch the fading scent of oil, hemp and
Instead of getting any help from others, the author arranges the crews went ashore by themselves. However, destructive waves made the crews have no choice but to jump off the boat. "Called the captain." Furthermore, it 's hard to imagine that a person would give the chance of surviving to others, but the captain did. "but the captain waved him away and sent him to the correspondent." （Page 214） the captain knew at that time, the correspondent needed the help more than he did. The author described the captain with the high-quality psychological strength which cannot be crushed by any destructive strength and based on the book, his psychological strength did lead the crew members out from the open sea.
“The Open Boat” is a short story about four men’s struggle to survive in a ten foot dinghy after their ship has sunk in the middle of the night. In the dinghy, there is the captain, an oiler, a correspondent, and a cook. Throughout the story, the men are constantly at the mercy of nature. They are continually worrying about the boat capsizing or filling up with water because the surf and the wind are so atrocious. While they are in the boat, the men discuss their feelings toward nature. They tend to express anger because they feel that nature has placed them in this situation. The four men want to survive, but they know they will have to swim towards shore because the surf is preventing them from rowing to shore. One night the captain suggests they save their energy so that they can hopefully make the swim towards shore. The boat then capsizes which at this time they must all try to swim in. Three of the four make it ashore and survive, but the one that doesn’t make it isn’t the injured captain but the oiler.
“In spite of it all…I had done it, Lucia.” She whispered as she closed her eyes. She turns away from the window, a faint handprint still left on the window. She walked to a small wooden table and grabbed a miniature bottle on top, before she shuffled to the door. A man with silver rimmed glasses bows before her at the entryway and pushed open the door.
In any case, I know that my memory of you will live even there as I too become a child of the sea”( 24). He shows the hopelessness he felt right up until the
It all felt like a hurried illusion tangled amidst a fragrance of sweet Rosemaries and cinnamon buns to help keep me rooted in place. I had not the faintest idea of what I was doing, except for the sporadic intervals where the voices inside of my head kept repeating that I was straying too far away from the palms of safety. I promised myself that I would disperse just as soon as I broke the surface and soothed my troubling curiosity and wonders. I imagined that my current situation was purely temporary, but attempting to reassure myself only led to my unfortunate disdain. Like an aberrant game of a cat after the mouse, the unfaltering seconds continued to penetrate the oblivious minutes as the miniscule grains of sand nearly pervaded to cease
As we pulled out of my parents driveway, the circumstances seemed very surreal. My entire way of life had been turned upside down with only a few hours consideration. I was very much “at sea” in the ...
she always used to wish for a way to escape her life. She saw memories
The ride to Maine was horrible it wasn’t the waves it was the poor conditions of the boat for 15 days on sea. There were leaks on the creaky boards so when it rained in my quarters it would drip, and the wind threatened to sink the boat every time it blew a gust. Though that was sure better then the pirates! They are scoundrels they think if someone bought it it’s there’s! They steal and destroy whatever you own! That was my last straw so next time they came I defended my property and now they
As of now there is already an excess of people on the boat and more trying to get on it. Fear is a great feeling that overwhelms us at our most critical time. In this case fear has taken over the passenger’s actions in which they fight over each other in order to be able to get on. As things have calmed down a bit and with the power that has been given to me by these humble people I know face the most challenging and drastic decision making that I have ever faced. Now I gather the attention of the people and make my
Accompanying the vibrant flowers, rich, emerald hills lay below the sky; as sunlight ignited the horizon, the dew-sheltered grass glistened beneath fluffy cotton candy clouds that were pressed against the gorgeous, sapphire sky. Circled above, birds hummed melodic tunes, each note resonating in the air; the wind responded with its sweet, delicate breeze. An overpowering, yet sugary fragrant travelled through the crisp air, attacking the noses of the several people that passed by. Gazing into the distance, passersby were incapable of consuming the exquisiteness of the landscape.
“It’s quite hot out today, so that’s probably the cause,” you mumbled and ran to your room. You flopped onto the bed dramatically, replaying the events of the afternoon in your head. Joshua’s words clung to you like your mother to her fortune. “I didn’t even tell him how I felt.”
It was a silent night. Too silent. Not even the sound of the wind, nor the howl of the grey wolves could be heard. The lake was a dark mirror, reflecting the dull moonlight shrouded by a thick layer of fog. Pine trees surrounded the vast lake, towering menacingly as if to swallow it.
The beach was always such a peaceful place. Between the sand, the sun, and the waves, Mallon was lost in the overwhelming harmony she felt here. It was a rare pleasure, since her father toured around the world and didn't let his growing daughter sit and smell the salty air. Of course, she couldn't sit still for long. Her hands began to shake, the toes to wiggle, and eventually she stood in the sand, brushed off her flowery dress, and started hunting for the elegant white shells that were obscured beneath the shifting ground.
The beach was no longer warm and sunny. Instead, it had become a barren place where the leaves turned into monsters lurking in the water. It was no longer filled with songs. Instead, it had become an echo of what it once was, the only sound was the rain colliding with the ocean. No longer filled with color.
The soft muffled sounds of a child’s feet running across the floor woke me up that morning. Not a moment later, the door opened to the room followed by my younger sister launching herself onto the bed to wake me. With the door to my room now opened, a rush of aromas filled the room. Soon enough I was dressed and ready for breakfast. After a rushed breakfast filled with many diverse flavors of my grandparents cooking we were out the door prepared for the day ahead of us.