II. The Listener

So, this is the second part of what I'm working on about a woman with prophetic powers, traveling by sea from Cork, Ireland to Rhode Island.

She had always dreamt of leaving that house, that strange little place, the one now infected by the worlds growing epidemic: silence. Now she was headed out of Ireland on a salvaged cruise-ship heading towards what was left of historic Rhode Island. They called it the Elmer Rosary, found abandoned in the docks of Cork some time ago, and now used as a means to transport survivors. She’d gathered almost all of her provisions to get a ride, gave them to a strange man just before the ship had taken off. She hadn’t remembered his name, though there was something about him that felt, important. Yes that was it; there was something so very important about this man. God, what was his name again? Max?

She shook her head. It didn’t matter; they were going to meet again, no avoiding it. His thick black goatee, shoulder length dyed red hair (where had he gotten dye?), those piercing blue eyes that reminded her of her own. All of it would be stuck in her memory until it would happen. What exactly ‘it’ was hadn’t been provided. Samantha just knew, and that was the only explanation she could give.

It was mainly places though that gave her the feeling, and it saddened her greatly that after so many years, her beloved home by the Celtic sea hadn’t provoked it.

Outsides painted a sanitary white, the insides a mixture of crimson and velvet, a long black marble walkway with several granite obelisks acting as family memorials, well maintained by its occupants. It was a house to be envied. People gathered from time to time, praising her parents for both their homes presentation and the peculiar sculptures, and paintings which had been displayed within. All by hand, crafted and painted with love. Life in Ireland hadn’t been so bad, actually it had been wonderful, but as fast as the wind changes directions, so did life. The silence had changed it, the silence that followed the droughts, the famine, and the death.

She looked down at her hands, now dirty, and calloused. Remembering how she’d spend countless nights composing her own music on her parents butterfly baby Wurlitzer. Oh how wonderful each note had sounded as she pressed down on its old ivory keys.

It was saddening, almost enough to bring her to tears. Why was it that she was able to retain such a useless ability, and not her home, her passion? Sure, she knew things, things that she didn’t understand, things that nobody else knew. But she didn’t ask for this. There was no music anymore, just the constant silence.

 “Hey’r ya’ awake?” A voice spoke, suddenly snapped her out of reflection. She spun her head around to see just where it had come from and came face to face with a tall, balding man who looked to be in his late forties. Unimportant.

She put her arm up over her nose for a minute, though tried to pass it off as her wiping it. He’d smelt something along the lines of raw meat, stale onions and burnt up grease. Oh god please let him be the cook.

“’’Ey! I askin’ if ya’r okay” He persisted.

“Yes, I am, is there something you need?”

“No, I dun’o, just seein’, ya’know, makin’ sure all’s well”

Making sure of what? She thought. He’s certainly no pick-up artist; at least this lady isn’t biting.

Samantha laughed a little. She hadn’t considered herself much of a lady. She hated being called beautiful, or even pretty. Usually wore track pants, and her old Adidas windbreaker down as she walked. Make-up was just a waste of money to her; no she mostly blew her Euros on the latest fiction. 

 “Texas” The balding man said, holding his hand out, clearly expecting her to give it a shake. She considered it but decided not to, and just smiled a little. Sorry slick.

She went to reply but suddenly felt a strong jolt from below. The man fell to his knees, cursing. She expected he was almost as confused as her.

Then it happened. The Elmer Rosary’s engines began to pop, and sputter before letting out and dying groan then falling completely silent. People began to panic, all running towards it bow. Screaming about how all hope was lost, they were doomed, and how they would all dry up, just as the land had.

Samantha sat still, she knew better. This is the very situation where her feelings became useful. People would survive, most of them, she too would. The only problem was that she didn’t know what to expect in between.

“God!” The greasy smelling man screamed, slamming his head against the side of a seat. She didn’t understand why until she felt herself sliding slowly to the left, towards the isles.

The passengers panic increased, this time nothing was said, there was only screaming.

Author's Note

NOTE: This is just a fragment of a larger story I'm working on, the reason I posted this fragment is to see what exactly people think of it before I decide if I'm going to convert it into the more complicated writing style I usually prefer.