Sometimes I feel so deserted
Slower going today with 258 words.
The Mutiny
“Sometimes I feel so deserted by all the pretty girls with whom I’ve flirted.”
Impromptu verse. It gave me something to do other than bob up and down under the scorching sun, atop the gently rolling waves aboard the inflatable raft. I chuckled. Was I being clever? Was it the heat? The lack of water? What was it Coleridge wrote about water everywhere, but none it potable?
I adjusted the makeshift canopy I’d made out of the small oars and my clothes, but it didn’t matter. Part of me still ended up baking in the sun, so my real choice was which parts could stand a little more burn.
“Well played, gentlemen.”
I never saw it coming, ‘it’ referring both to the treachery as well as the rough hands that grabbed me while I was having a smoke on deck. They didn’t bother to explain. We all knew the why of it. I’d made promises that I’d been unable to keep, and five people died and the rest sailed half way across the Pacific, all for nothing.
“C’est la vie.”
I chuckled again. We had been close. I was certain of that, but, like they say, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. It does not count in treasure hunting with mercenaries, following a faded map found in the back of a nineteenth century journal. I guess, in retrospect, the idea of an undiscovered island in this day and age of GPS and spy satellites is a bit silly, but I’ve always been a romantic at heart.
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