“There’s a hole in the ship,” the child told the captain. She was dripping wet from bailing out water. And tired from doing it with only a handful of her friends.
“I think we’re sinking,” she said.
But the captain did not listen.
“This ship,” he said, “is the biggest in the land. There is no hole big enough to sink it.”
The ship was magnificent. A floating cathedral on which rode only the holiest, the richest, and the most beautiful of men. This was where the child was born. For eight years, the child was loved by the ship’s crew. They taught her how to steer across the angriest of seas, through the roughest of storms.
But as time went by, and as the hole grew bigger, water started seeping into the ship’s corridors. And the ship became very, very slow.
“There’s a hole in the ship,” the child said again.
Still, no one listened.
And so, painfully, the child jumped off.
Onto a shiny bright yacht, she jumped. A shiny bright yacht with no holes.
The yacht was small and fast. Its captain knew the seas well. And as he steered the yacht to faraway lands, the child watched. And she learned.
Until one day, as she walked the deck of the shiny bright yacht, she found her feet wet.
“There’s a hole in the yacht,” she told the captain.
But the captain was too busy steering.
“There’s a hole in the yacht,” she said again.
“Get back to work,” the captain said, “there is no hole in my yacht.”
And so, the child got back to work.
Soon, more children cried, “There’s a hole in the yacht!”
And one by one, they jumped off.
“Fools,” the captain accused, “there is no hole in my yacht.”
And so, with the water now up to her ankles, the child got back to work.
One day, as the child bailed out water from the deck of the shiny bright yacht, a lopsided old boat drifted along.
“You seem tired,” called out a man on the deck of the lopsided old boat, “would you like to take a rest on my deck?”
The child crossed over to the lopsided old boat. She sat awhile and looked closely at the man. His navy blue coat was dripping wet, and his beard was a mixture of hair and seaweed.
“Are you a captain, sir?”
“I am,” he replied.
“My ship is big. It was once the most magnificent. The fastest on the waters. And the envy of captains from faraway seas.”
The child waited as the captain of the lopsided old boat paused, peering at the yacht in front of them.
“How big is the hole on that yacht?” he asked.
“There is no hole, sir,” the child answered.
“That’s a lot of water for a boat with no hole.”
“Your ship, sir. Where is this ship you speak of?”
“Why, THIS is my ship,” the captain answered.
The child was confused.
“But this, sir, is a lopsided old boat.”
The captain stood up and walked to the edge of the lopsided old boat, and the child followed him. From the edge of boat, she saw something beneath it.
“Do you see it?” the captain asked.
“Yes, sir. It is beautiful.”
The captain looked at the child, and he smiled.
“There’s a hole in my ship,” he said,
“would you like to help me fix it?”
The child nodded as she took the captain’s hand.
She knew she was home.
“I think we’re sinking,” she said.
But the captain did not listen.
“This ship,” he said, “is the biggest in the land. There is no hole big enough to sink it.”
The ship was magnificent. A floating cathedral on which rode only the holiest, the richest, and the most beautiful of men. This was where the child was born. For eight years, the child was loved by the ship’s crew. They taught her how to steer across the angriest of seas, through the roughest of storms.
But as time went by, and as the hole grew bigger, water started seeping into the ship’s corridors. And the ship became very, very slow.
“There’s a hole in the ship,” the child said again.
Still, no one listened.
And so, painfully, the child jumped off.
Onto a shiny bright yacht, she jumped. A shiny bright yacht with no holes.
The yacht was small and fast. Its captain knew the seas well. And as he steered the yacht to faraway lands, the child watched. And she learned.
Until one day, as she walked the deck of the shiny bright yacht, she found her feet wet.
“There’s a hole in the yacht,” she told the captain.
But the captain was too busy steering.
“There’s a hole in the yacht,” she said again.
“Get back to work,” the captain said, “there is no hole in my yacht.”
And so, the child got back to work.
Soon, more children cried, “There’s a hole in the yacht!”
And one by one, they jumped off.
“Fools,” the captain accused, “there is no hole in my yacht.”
And so, with the water now up to her ankles, the child got back to work.
One day, as the child bailed out water from the deck of the shiny bright yacht, a lopsided old boat drifted along.
“You seem tired,” called out a man on the deck of the lopsided old boat, “would you like to take a rest on my deck?”
The child crossed over to the lopsided old boat. She sat awhile and looked closely at the man. His navy blue coat was dripping wet, and his beard was a mixture of hair and seaweed.
“Are you a captain, sir?”
“I am,” he replied.
“My ship is big. It was once the most magnificent. The fastest on the waters. And the envy of captains from faraway seas.”
The child waited as the captain of the lopsided old boat paused, peering at the yacht in front of them.
“How big is the hole on that yacht?” he asked.
“There is no hole, sir,” the child answered.
“That’s a lot of water for a boat with no hole.”
“Your ship, sir. Where is this ship you speak of?”
“Why, THIS is my ship,” the captain answered.
The child was confused.
“But this, sir, is a lopsided old boat.”
The captain stood up and walked to the edge of the lopsided old boat, and the child followed him. From the edge of boat, she saw something beneath it.
“Do you see it?” the captain asked.
“Yes, sir. It is beautiful.”
The captain looked at the child, and he smiled.
“There’s a hole in my ship,” he said,
“would you like to help me fix it?”
The child nodded as she took the captain’s hand.
She knew she was home.
Alright, brutally honest comment.
ReplyDeleteI didn't like how you started the story and I thought the metaphor was too obvious. Something to be expected from novice writers still trying to learn the tricks of the craft. But the ending,yes Trixie, if only for the ending this story was saved. I like the final twist. Woke me up even before I've had my morning coffee.
Hey, I'm having my morning coffee now. I hope my comment wasn't too brutal. Feel free to to do the same to my mediocre entries. I respect your opinion. I always have. You know that.
ReplyDeleteYes, well, the metaphor was meant to be obvious. The point wasn't so much what the Ships stood for in the story, as it was WHICH ship in my life each Ship in the story stood for.
ReplyDeleteI wrote the story with my heart, culling from my own experiences. It is true and honest, as I've always tried to be. Never claimed to be a writer's writer, so I can't care less about the uhm, "tricks of the craft". Besides, I've found that being too conscious of execution often hampers expression.
Am not finding your opinion brutal. Trying too hard to be offensive, yes, but that is pretty consistent with your personality. At the end of the day, if it gives you a peek into my life and the Ships I have been privileged enough to ride, then the story has done its job.
Trying hard to be offensive? Noooo... I was trying hard not to be. But offensive is me -- sadly. :(
ReplyDelete