By Caleb/Cederak:
Tempest
It was mid-afternoon when the water began to churn violently, turning what had been a calm scene into a deafening cacophony of swishing and splashing. There were many objects caught in the waves, drowned and thrown to the surface, over and over again. The whirlpool was a machine, clutching anything it could grab and shifting it about like a puppeteer would manipulate a marionette. There was no escape from this powerful, unnatural force at work. Even above the liquid cyclone, there was only darkness. When the water was prepared to surrender its victims, it would. Unfortunately, that time had not yet come. Mighty sounds continued to accompany the unforgiving water, creating incessant booms and rattling shakes. This kind of storm had grown ancient and, when younger, had also been more temperate and quiet. With age came a brusque attitude that grew loud and cantankerous. The water had always been relentless, but it was only in recent years that such angry noises began to accompany it.
And then, as quickly as the unyielding agitation had begun, it settled into a peaceful serenity. The water's surface had become relatively still and the only sound that remained was that of a lone waterfall, coursing strongly downward as new contents entered the ephemeral sea. It was this waterfall that afforded the water its substance, pumping in gallons of liquid before it would be swept up and thrown about. The same was true for all of the items beneath the waves, dyed miserable, dark shades of cobalt, midnight, and the like. The icy cold water surrounded all and there was no life to be found in them. The calm before the storm finally subsided and the water began to shift once again. The afternoon was now approaching the evening, though the darkness remained impenetrable. This time the sounds became even more fierce and nasty, as though the water threatened to shred everything inside of it to pieces. Any hint of life in the water had been extinguished much earlier, but the waves crashed with an intensity that had no regard for life. Something that existed in the deep, deep dark was at work, electrified with the power to whirl the storm until it was satisfied with itself.
At last, the storm had concluded. A bright light bathed the entire scene in a glow, shining down on the damp prisoners released from the captivity of the waves. The darkness had been lifted and a young man stood over the objects, surveying them silently before reaching to scoop them up. And what had the Tide brought in, you might ask? It brought in the ability to lift stains from the articles in the wash. Because that's what Tide is marketed to do.
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By Tekulo:
Tides
The ship was often mentioned in lore. She was built under a full moon on an island that doesn’t exist. That is, the island is thought to be a myth. None have ever found any trace of its existence. Her name had been lost in an ancient tongue, eventually forgotten. It was said she was beautiful, though; beautiful blue sails that would glow in the light of shimmering stars, wood that had been smoothed and polished so well that it could be seen at night. Some say it ferried souls to the afterlife. Others claimed it was a chariot of the gods.
Some versions of the story claimed the ship had a crazed captain. After many years of sailing, he dropped by on land for one night. He was so raptured with the world of land that when he returned to his ship he went mad. His crew no longer trusted him and they decided to pierce his heart with a silver dagger. After that the ship vanished almost as mysteriously as it was created.
Few had claimed to see her late at night, far off of the shore, the witnesses drawn to the sea by the moans of the betrayed captain. These stories always seemed to arise when the weather was clear when the stars were easily visible. It was a laughable prank, really. Nothing in the world could be so majestic, mysterious or magnificent.
Now, under the full moon, I stand here on the beach. The wind murmurs gently in my ears. The stars look beautiful now, and there is enough light to see the waves that cause the sand to shimmer in the night. I hold in my hand a small, tarnished dagger I had found half buried. Maybe the world was always majestic, mysterious and magnificent. Maybe sometimes all you need to do is wait for the tides to bring something in.
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By Zarayna/Nick:
The Knife
“I found this on the beach,” the man said, twirling the piece of wood carelessly in his hand. The woman he was speaking to looked at it weirdly.
“You’re telling me that’s wood?” she asked skeptically, looking at the dark thing, shaped almost like a twisted knife. The man shrugged.
“Well it’s not metal, or plastic. What else could it be?” he said. “Anyways, I like it.”
“I know you like it. Ever since the last shipwreck you’ve liked every single piece of wreckage you could find. Did you like the last piece of the ship that washed in? Or the logs you shoved off the cliff so we couldn’t light the fire?” Her voice was suddenly angry, and he almost started.
“We don’t own those cliffs, nor do we own the waters, or the ships. Not our duty.”
“Those people died at sea because of what you did! And you come here with this knife that you claim is a piece of driftwood. Are you serious?”
The man smiled suddenly.
“Yes. I’m very serious. I’m serious about money, We’ve lived near this accursed cliff for twenty years, scraping a living out of the soil, with this goldmine right within reach. But you always lit the fire. Always. And I saw each ship ome in. Every bit of riches passing through while we remained poor!” His voice had risen to a shout almost, and the woman started back for a moment.
“Yes, because I’m not a bandit! Those riches belong to the ships, not to us! I’m not a murderer, but… But you are.” Her last words came out with a sob, and she glared accusingly through her tears at her husband.
“But you’ve seen some of the people who pass by! They’re either so rich as to think us as bugs or nothing more than pirates! They owed us for their sins!” the man snapped back, the wood clenched in his hands.
“You don’t even know them!” his wife replied with equal ferocity. “You never met them, you never learned their life, you, you can’t even bear a condemnation without trying to prattle your way out of it like a coward!”
The man stepped forwards threateningly, reaching out to grab her arm, hard.
“Say that again about me!”
“I will then!” his wife snapped, slapping him violently across the face and shoving him backwards.
“You’re a braggart and a coward, and fool and a murderer!” she screamed, fists clenched. He flew forwards, ducking her first blow and slamming her against the wall of their house. Her shocked, but still defiant eyes glared at him.
“Nothing more than a woman-killer,” she gasped, even as he let her limp body collapse to the ground, the so-called piece of wood embedded in it. Shaking with sudden horror, he drew it out, looking at the strangely sharp black blade, coated in blood.
The tide had brought it in, and him as well.
He stared down at the body of his dead wife, aversion and guilt flowing through him.
Then his own body too slumped, sprawled across his wife’s, the black knife embedded in its heart.
“I found this on the beach,” the man said, twirling the piece of wood carelessly in his hand. The woman he was speaking to looked at it weirdly.
“You’re telling me that’s wood?” she asked skeptically, looking at the dark thing, shaped almost like a twisted knife. The man shrugged.
“Well it’s not metal, or plastic. What else could it be?” he said. “Anyways, I like it.”
“I know you like it. Ever since the last shipwreck you’ve liked every single piece of wreckage you could find. Did you like the last piece of the ship that washed in? Or the logs you shoved off the cliff so we couldn’t light the fire?” Her voice was suddenly angry, and he almost started.
“We don’t own those cliffs, nor do we own the waters, or the ships. Not our duty.”
“Those people died at sea because of what you did! And you come here with this knife that you claim is a piece of driftwood. Are you serious?”
The man smiled suddenly.
“Yes. I’m very serious. I’m serious about money, We’ve lived near this accursed cliff for twenty years, scraping a living out of the soil, with this goldmine right within reach. But you always lit the fire. Always. And I saw each ship ome in. Every bit of riches passing through while we remained poor!” His voice had risen to a shout almost, and the woman started back for a moment.
“Yes, because I’m not a bandit! Those riches belong to the ships, not to us! I’m not a murderer, but… But you are.” Her last words came out with a sob, and she glared accusingly through her tears at her husband.
“But you’ve seen some of the people who pass by! They’re either so rich as to think us as bugs or nothing more than pirates! They owed us for their sins!” the man snapped back, the wood clenched in his hands.
“You don’t even know them!” his wife replied with equal ferocity. “You never met them, you never learned their life, you, you can’t even bear a condemnation without trying to prattle your way out of it like a coward!”
The man stepped forwards threateningly, reaching out to grab her arm, hard.
“Say that again about me!”
“I will then!” his wife snapped, slapping him violently across the face and shoving him backwards.
“You’re a braggart and a coward, and fool and a murderer!” she screamed, fists clenched. He flew forwards, ducking her first blow and slamming her against the wall of their house. Her shocked, but still defiant eyes glared at him.
“Nothing more than a woman-killer,” she gasped, even as he let her limp body collapse to the ground, the so-called piece of wood embedded in it. Shaking with sudden horror, he drew it out, looking at the strangely sharp black blade, coated in blood.
The tide had brought it in, and him as well.
He stared down at the body of his dead wife, aversion and guilt flowing through him.
Then his own body too slumped, sprawled across his wife’s, the black knife embedded in its heart.
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By Aimee/Aderia:
She went to the beach one fine day
To enjoy the sea and the spray
There was a penguin instead
She hugged it and said
“It’s so cute! Let’s keep it! Hooray!”
Her mom said to set the bird free
To Antartica, across the sea
The girl sat and cried
Her mother just sighed
Because they could never agree
Her dad had a different thought
And maybe they’d give it a shot
Give the bird to the zoo
Where they could visit it too
Conveniently, Dad’s name was Scott
I can’t keep rhythm and rhyme
I’ve definitely run out of time
The bird went to the zoo
It caught the bird flu
Then it died.
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By John/Kraggh:
Nixie Lands on an Island
Nixie drifted up on the blue, blue shores of some distant land. Her raft was ruined, and her thick, curly hair in her face. She was unconscious and incapable of really noticing that she had come to a stop. It was a while before she woke up. The calm, peaceful sun beat down upon her. She peered out at the world from behind her dark brown eyes, not really feeling anything, other than a deep desire to feel the sun as a gift of comfort and not as a reminder of her dryness and her lack of drink.
She got up. Looked around. Shook her head.
There was nothing but the green of tropical trees, the light tan of the beaches, and the aquamarine color of the see. It was beautiful, like some sort of paradise. She was alive.
Yet for not, all she could do was roll off of the raft and sit there, her bottom in the sand, her hands on her lap as she looked out into the vast infinity of the see. She would need food and water soon, but before that she just needed to ponder what she had lost.
No, she hadn't lost anything. Her friends and her younger brother were still out there, just out of reach. She new she would see them someday. it was just a matter of having faith and starting to search.
Somewhere across the waters...
She got up and grabbed her bag from the top of the raft. Its strap that was supposed to hoist around her shoulder was broken, so she used it as a rope and just dragged it across the sand. It formed a line, and the line disappeared into the treed.
She had managed to spot without much difficulty the highest point on the island. It was a large rock outcropping, like a spine coming out of the earth. Along the way, she found strange new fruits and gave them a try, risking her life on the hope that they weren't poison. She tried their bruit orange and yellow and green juices and was refurbished.
Ah, that was so much better. It wasn't enough to lighten up her head quite yet, though, so she decided she would make camp.
That wasn't so difficult, since the leaves on this island were huge. In fact, some of them reached eleven feet across, by her guestimate, since they were about twice her length. It would be easy to make a tent out of them. But not here in the forest. No, she picked a few, rolled them up, and set them out on the beach and set up a tend there. There would be no bugs and no creepy things to crawl over her while she slept.
The next day, she ate some more and gathered up food, and then she went back to the tall rock she saw. It took a bit of climbing, and her grip was only so strong, but she wanted to give it a try. She saw the jagged face of the rock through the trees and ran up to it, then looked for a foothold. She then, through force of determination, found a way up, and endurance came to her through the form of a continued sense of wonder. Once she was halfway up, she saw the world around her in an outstanding beauty. The bright blue area where the deep see came up to the sandy beach was beautiful. The island wasn't that large, but she couldn't gather its exact size until she got to the top of the rock that afternoon. She stood there, on a narrow pathway, able to look southease and northwest of the aisle, out upon the surrounding isle. It was about five miles across.
"Hello?" she cried out. "Is anyone here?"
No answer.
"HELLOOOOO?"
There looked to be no sort of settlement on the island. She figured she would leave, then. it wasn't worth staying if there was nobody here to help her. It was best to just pack up fruits onto the raft. She climbed down the rock to get back to the raft.
"Hey, wait," said a voice.
She looked around and saw a golden bug on the rock, about the size of the palm of her hand. It had eight legs along a segmented body, and then a front area like a centaur, which had pincers for arms and these two beady eyes on the ends of stalks, which swiveled about comically. He looked like a scorpion or a crab of some sort.
"Hello, who are you?" she asked.
"I'm the only person on this island," said the bug person.
"But you're a bug," said Nixie.
"A bug person," said the bug person. "What's a matter. Haven't you ever seen a dichester before?"
"Have you ever seen a human before?" asked Nixie.
"Come to think of it, I have no idea what you are," said the bug-person-dichester.
"Well I'm leaving this island," she said.
"I'm coming with you," said the dichester. "And my name is Jetty."
"Nice to meet you, Jetty. My name is Nixie. And yes, you can come with me, but I'm leaving this island."
"I know. I figured that you came on a raft, and I've been lonely for a while now."
That evening, Nixie sad under the tent with a fire started to keep them warm and cook some fish that she caught, while she recorded her thoughts into her journal, the sole item she carried with her in her bag. She bit into a golden apple, and its juice dripped onto the pages, right on top of her brother's name. Then she stopped and contemplated it all. Where she was right now, the encounter she had with Jetty, and the leap of faith she was taking by setting her raft out onto the open ocean again.
She came out of her tent and called out Jetty's name. He came scurrying over, leaving little dots for tracks behind him. They ate what food was left, but it was a quick meal. She wanted to drift into the night time and make as much use of the cool moonlight air as possible.
Jetty got onto the recrafted raft while Nixie got out on back and pushed it into the ocean. After paddling along for a while, cutting her knee on a piece of coral, she pulled herself on and let herself dry off, putting herself at a distance from her bag so that she didn't get her journal wet.
And so they went off with the stars in the sky, ready to discover another of the many islands out there, hopefully one that had friends and support. And when they looked out, there were many stars, and they were reflected upon the water so that the division between the heavens and the waters was impossible to make, and it was all one swirling cosmos.
Nixie has seen this before, but this was during a vision where she was given sight over the entire universe, and she knew everything, and she knew where she was. She still wondered if that wasn't a dream, if it wasn't for how she had mysteriously came to a paradise once it was over. She could only wish that the same force was watching over her still, and she rolled onto her back and slept, with her new companion using her hair as a bed. It was a weird world out there, but it was also beautiful.
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