Creative Writing: The Voyage To America

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The soft pitter patter of the rain on the ceiling and windows drowned out the defining silence. The smells of old books and freshly printed papers surrounded you from the entrance to the tiny coffee shop in the corner. As I made my way over to the smell of fresh cocoa and coffee beans I ordered a hot cocoa and open the worn leathered book. The pages frail and tattered with water stains and wrinkled, my brain began to scan the page and let the story unfold and tell a story of forbidden love, rough seas, and heartbreak.
In faded black ink barely still readable was "The Book of Sir Balfour Given January 2, 1621" in tiny hand-written print at the bottom the cover said, "For the Voyage to America, given to Sir Barnabas". As I slid my fingers …show more content…

The captain yelling down to the people on the dock to untie the ship overpowered the waves hitting the dock and shore and the few distant families mingling with each other. Not too long after that, they were herded down the ship to a small area. This will be home for 2 months. Stacked like cargo, he set up my little pallet that he would call a bed. Laying down and closing his eyes trying to get used to the sway of the ship, the stench, the shouting only a few floors above. Slowly sleepiness took over, and he began to forget about everything and let the blackness take over. Letting his brain create demons and angles in his dreams. Minutes blended hours. Hours blended into days. Days blended into weeks. Storms blended into easy rocking of the ship. The only memorable moments were when his mother and father dropped like flies and the sad funeral of throwing the bodies overboard and letting their souls rest in the bottom of the …show more content…

All he wanted to do was to shake his fist up at God and ask why, why them, why did they have to die? Quietly, the only person to say a word to him since the passing of his parents and sibling slid down next to him and sat there, in silence, just being there. Slowly he couldn’t stop his thoughts, and they came in like a flood, like a breaking dam, flooding his thoughts. With that spilt-second tears came down like a hurricane. Leaning against the only person who stood with him in the hard times. His boding racking up and down, like a spasm. His face covered in tears, soaking his shirt and his friend's shirt, wishing it could all go away. Wishing his father and mother could come back, could be back on the ship not at the bottom of an ocean, wishing his sibling could be born. But that will never happen, they will never come back, his family will never say 'hi', 'have a good day', 'have a good day' there will never be another moment with his mom, never another learning moment from his dad, he was alone once

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