The Fishing Boat Trials

I’d already lost two of my passengers and my last one had succumbed to the ending he believed wad the inevitable. Sharks gnashed their serrated teeth across my hull and breached into the air, reaching for my lone passenger’s limbs. It was almost impossible for me to stay afloat. The Great Storm claimed my mast, leaving the searing pain coursing through my body as the only reminder of the life i had once lived.

I’m only a fishing boat but I’ve seen some things. I’ve seen burly men brought to their knees  praying to foreign gods for protection from the storms and monsters of the deep. I’ve seen nets overflowing with fish, so full that even I couldn’t carry the load. I’ve seen fellow boats surrender their cargo and captains to the frothing waves in a frantic plight to stay above water. I’ve seen the jagged rocks that have christened themselves the graveyard of my kinsmen.

I’ve survived so much, but I didn’t know how I’d survive this. A fortnight ago, my captain and his companions fled being captured and murdered by their former masters. Even though the slave trade has been prohibited, past masters still hunt for runaways with a bloodthirsty vengeance. My captain had entrusted his life and the life of his two comrades in me. And I failed them.

I fought through the raging Storm and even though my mast was ripped from my body, I kept on. I don’t know where the sharks came from. I can only assume that the fish my captain had caught were tossed into the swirling deep, their blood drawing the sharks up from the murky depths. But they weren’t satisfied with a meal of fish. They sensed I was carrying more food and they craved the taste of human flesh.

The first man I lost was young and strong. Bravely, he had taken some sugarcane and bashed it atop the firm heads of the beasts. Alas, a shark bit the cane and with his brute force pulled the young man into the water. I don’t know what happened next. I felt the remaining two men’s feet scurry across my floor and from under the waves, I think I heard a scream. And then there was more blood. The older man let out a rasping guttural cry and dived into the churning death trap.

My captain had made no move to stop him. I felt him lean across my starboard side and heard a weak sigh escape his parched lips. The sharks swarmed in a mad rush to get the last bits of their meal.

And once they were satisfied, they left. I heard my captain talking to himself and after a while, he addressed me.

“Well girl, looks like this is the end. I’ve lost everything.” His voice stopped and he allowed himself to shed a few well earned tears. He stood up. “Okay, you’re strong. It’s time for me to leave, I bid you fare-” before he could continue, a faint yell traveled across the sea and met his ears. He turned around. It was a ship!

I felt so relieved. He would live. I’d get a mast! Everything would be okay. The ship neared us and my captain rose to see who our rescuers were. He stood up, eyes wide with relief,  to greet them, but as he opened his mouth, a deafening CRACK filled the air. Less than a second later, my captain dropped to his knees and slumped over my side, leaving a faint crimson trail of blood as the headstone for his underwater grave.

I was empty. I had lost my cargo and crew. I had no purpose for existing and deserved to sink down to the ocean floor and rot, yet the men on the large ship pulled me up.

That was four years ago. I still live a quiet fishing life, but even my new mast will not fill the empty space that belonged to my first captain.

*** I wrote this for my literature class and I'm proud of it so I decided to post it. The story is based of that painting, which is "The Gulf Stream" by Winslow Homer. And I got the painting screenshot off Wikipedia.