I puked over the side of the boat. I was not having a fun trip.
“Yar, looks like thine sea legs hath not sprouted as of yet,” Captain Trevor said to me in his grizzled drone. “More like you’re just getting your sea stomach remeasured!”
I would have laughed at this joke if it weren’t the thirtieth time he told it. Granted, I probably deserved the first twenty of those, what with the vomit exploding out of my mouth by the gross while stuck on the Sea of Madness. That’s the last time I drink my own urine when I’m caught in a dinghy.
We’ve been sailing for countless days, mostly because the sun never sets in this strange sea, thus making time immeasurable, but also because I have somehow lost my ability to count in anything but prime numbers. It started off fine: 1. 2, 3, but then I got lost. Until I reach my next primal numeric solar cycle anniversary event, I’m afraid I’m stuck with Captain Trevor’s calculations, which are unfortunately based on an obscure Atlantean calendar. “What day is it today?” I would ask, and he would peer at the sun through squinty eyes, counting silently in his head, and remark, “Today is the Day of the Lord, Bloomsday.” Granted, this has been his standard remark for the past three days.
Our voyage thus far has been boring and still. We have no oars, and thus cannot row. We have no sail, and thus cannot produce elaborate backdrops to our one man plays that Trevor and I concoct for entertainment. My one man version of “Chain of Command” went swimmingly, until the end when I really did see five lights. Trevor’s production of “The King and I” was a fine one, except for his deteriorating habit of slipping into pantomime and subtle racial stereotypes. I blame the source material. He makes a fine King of Siam, however.
The days dragged on as such for what seemed like prime +1. I was beginning to understand why it was called the Sea of Madness, although I dubbed it “The Sea of Stupid.” Trevor laughed every time I whipped that one out. God bless him.
We did pass a few distinguishable seamarks. The other day we saw the Rocks of Ages, a ring of stones jutting out of the water. They were too far out for us to reach them, but it was a pleasant sight as we passed. Trevor, upon first noticing the rocks, said, “Let’s take our shirts off and swim to them!” I was nonplussed at this. I didn’t want us to both lose sight of the boat. We just moved on past the Rocks of Ages.
Yesterday we glided past the Wreckage of the Ancients, a vast pirate ship cum petrified wood museum. Trevor was initially excited to see it, as he figured it would contain people that could help us. Alas, it was off for the season, this being Christmas (or Jerkfest, according to Trevor’s calendar). Nevertheless, he offered that we take our shirts off and swim to the petrified wood. Again I nixed this idea.
Today, after our daily play (an original I titled “Blasphemies of the Spider God”), long hours awaited us in silence. The only break in this monotony was Trevor suggesting we take our shirts off and wrestle. I declined.
He returned to his nap, grumbling about his boredom. He was asleep for only a few minutes when a voice crept up from the side of the boat.
“Hello travelers! Come hither to mine call!”
We scrambled to the side and gaped. A lady’s head stared back at us, her neck penetrating the water. Meh, I thought to myself, but gave my greetings back.
“Wherefore art thou in thine dinghy?” She pushed more of her body into the air. Her torso was that of a human females, and while she was visibly naked, a giant lute, held in her massive hands, covered her body from the front. “Shallst I singeth thee a song?”
“What are you?” I asked her. “Do you need help into our boat?”
“Nay, wary traveler. I canst swim on mine own!” With that she jumped into the air, performing a flip as her scaly fish tail glittered in the sun.
“By the Spider God, a mermaid!” exclaimed Trevor.
“Nay. I am Kaila, a Lutefisk (ba dum ching). And I shallst singeth thee mine song.”
And with that, she began to sing.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment