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dream.20070720: sailing away

by Rob Friesel

It seems as though I am bound for more inviting harbors.  This sea-side town has had enough of me and me of it.  My meager wages and scores have not turned over enough cash to re-outfit my ships with the new sails that they require.  Instead, I have jury-rigged my own, stitched together from flags and tarps and canvas murals.  With the makeshift sails rolled up and tucked under my arm, I scamper on to my ships.

Only one of them is moored to the dock; I barely have enough to cover the one slip fee.  The other ship is tied to this one and the dinghy tied to that.

On the first ship, I pull down the old, tattered sails.  Then up goes the replacement (a huge panoramic landscape mural on canvas along the bottom, a United States and a Brazilian flag up top).  I skip over onto the second ship and do the same thing: down goes the torn-to-shreds old sail and up goes the replacement.  (The second replacement is a WWII-era Japanese Imperial flag sewn together with either a solid green tarp or a Libyan flag.)

In addition to the sails, I have something for the dinghy as well: new oars.  I carefully maneuver myself along the rope and jump into the dinghy.  Whatever pageantry I intend is short-lived as the oars fall into the water and start to float away.  I reach out for them but they are already too far.  I cut the rope and try to paddle after them with my hands but cannot move fast enough.  I leap into the water and swim after the oars but with each stroke, the distance seems to multiply two-fold more than it should: the oars from me, me from the dinghy, the dinghy from the ships.

About Rob Friesel

Software engineer by day, science fiction writer by night. Author of The PhantomJS Cookbook and a short story in Please Do Not Remove. View all posts by Rob Friesel →

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