The Artist's Tale
The Artist seemed to be continuously smiling. He was penniless and starving, although his parents and he had lived in a metropolis when he was a child. Despite his troubles he was always filled with optimistic thought and good word. His life had definitely not been easy. His parents had shunned him for wishing to pursue his painting career instead of attending a top notch university, so the red-haired, bright eyed man was left to pursue his endeavors alone, and now here he was, chasing the stars on a plane to London, where his work had finally been recognized. It was a leap of faith, but he had enough heart and determination to make that jump. The flight would go on for at least 5 more hours, and it was his turn to share a tale.
"The sea storm was growing rough, and the captain had lots of decisions to make, and quick. His crew was tired from a day of work, and sleep hung on their countenances along with fatigued sunburn and sea salt. Yet they hacked on, twisting sails, scrubbing the deck, yelling out orders into the mist filled air. One man, a young lad by the name of John looked particularly tired. "Sir," he said, "I'm afraid I cannot continue such laborious work. I am unable to help the rest of the crew, and I don't want the ship to sink because of me."
Knowing he was short-manned and unwilling to take the young sailor's place, the captain told John that land was not far, and insisted that he hang on for a bit longer. Not wanting to cause trouble, John took up his place and continued to work, growing weaker by the minute. When a large amount of time had passed, John went to the captain again, begging for a rest, but the captain once again said that land was near, and that the boy should return to his post.
By this time the ship was creaking loudly, and rocking furiously back and forth. Foam reached the sides of the deck and flowed over the sailors' feet, numbing their toes and legs and keeping the men stuck in their places. All the while the captain simply oversaw the entire operation, not once lifting a finger to help the tired and struggling sailors, John in particular.
It was nearly three hours until the storm subsided and the men could go off to bed, the captain included. But the morning woke the captain with a start. Shrill cries filled the air and the word "mutiny" poured theough the windows into the captain's tiny bedroom. As he walked outside he was grabbed harshly by two men, his men, and urged them to let him go, but they would not. "Toss him in!" cried John, and the men obliged. The cold water washed over the captain's body; he was fully submerged in the salty sea. He came up, caught his breath, and heard two large plunks behind him. It was a horribly crafted, makeshift raft and a paddle.
"Just keep paddling! There's land not far from here!" screamed John as he took charge on deck and the ship sailed on toward its destination."
Fin
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