The StormA Story by MounsellA man refuses to leave his island home.Standing at the dock, Cormac used
his binoculars to glass the violent sea.
The thick haze limited his view and he was able to view only a small
area before him. Despite the murkiness,
he was able to see a weak light off in the distance. It rose slowly, as if burdened by some great
weight. Even as the sun revealed its
entirety, the fog remained copious. Cormac
removed the binoculars' strap from his neck.
He wrapped it around his fist and peered to the east. Standing at the center of the pier, Cormac
bore the brunt of those frothy waves that crashed against its columns. His clothing was soon soaked and he walked
from the dock. As he did so, the wind
bit at his bare skin. Cormac attempted
to shield his face with his coat's lapels.
This action offered him some relief.
He quickened his stride and continued down the dirt road that stretched
before him. Within the hour, Cormac reached the
edge of town. At this point, the earthen
road he had followed merged with one of cobblestone. The small cluster of structures standing before
him was carved in two by a thin cobble road.
Lining this path was a collection of various shops, each weathered by
age and climate. At the point where the
road split in two, stood a church. The sullied
windows and worn exterior contributed to this structure's ancient appearance. Moving down the cobbled road, Cormac listened
to the sounds of life that came from many of the buildings. Only a few muttered phrases met his ears. He recognized the owners of those few voices
carried into the street. However, he
felt no desire to converse and continued onward. Once Cormac reached the other side
of town, he saw that the weather had calmed tremendously. The fog had begun to disperse and Cormac was
able see much further than he had before.
He looked out upon the sea and saw that it had calmed greatly. As the wind died down, Cormac's walk became
much less difficult. He pressed onward and soon reached
his home. Sitting near the edge of the
shore, it managed to escape the tides. Presently,
they swelled but only reached halfway across the thin beach. Cormac watched as the waves crashed against
the rocks and brought aquatic flora and fauna to the shore. Each surfaced piece of refuse clung to the
stones until drawn back by the receding waters.
He moved to the front of his home. From there, he rooted through each of his
pockets for the key that would allow him to open the door. Feeling through one jacket pocket, he felt
the small brass implement and brought it out into the cold air. He fumbled at the lock and soon heard a click
from within its mechanism. Cormac pushed
the door open and replaced his key. Once inside, he looked about the
entryway. At one end of the room, there
sat a low table. He moved to the table
and rooted through it. Inside, he found
a small leather wallet. He placed it in
one of his pants pocket and walked to the kitchen. From there, he began to search for
food. He looked through pantry and found
an unopened can near its back. He shook
this unlabeled container and guessed the foodstuffs therein. On the counter sat a sharp knife with a
wooden handle. Cormac took it and used
its blade to pry the can's lid open.
Looking inside, he confirmed that its contents were indeed beans. "The usual fare," he
muttered. He grabbed a pot that and placed it
on the stove. Once both had warmed significantly,
he poured a large portion of the beans into the crock. Standing by the window, Cormac was
able to view the conditions outside.
They appeared to have worsened since he entered the house. The waves had grown stronger and the wind
shook leaves from each tree. He watched these events until the pan
began to spit grease. The oil hit skin
and he quickly drew his hand back from the stove. Using a soiled rag, he gripped the pot's
handle and placed it on the counter.
From there, he searched for a bowl.
The only clean one sat high in his cupboard. His bones creaked as he reached. After struggling for some time, he could feel
the edge of the vessel in his hand. He
pulled it from the cabinet and placed it at the table. Unable to find any large spoon, he poured
most of the pot's contents into his bowl.
He searched for a utensil shortly and realized that it too sat among the
dishes of the cabinet. He reached it
with ease and returned to his meal. It
warmed his weathered-racked body. After
several minutes, he peered down and saw that only a few scrapings remained
within the bowl. He finished these and
set the dish by the range. Grabbing his coat, he prepared himself
for another hike out. Cormac fastened
his heavy garment's buttons. As he did
so, he reached his one free hand out and turned the front door's brass knob. It clicked and he pulled inward. Suddenly, he was aware of the great violence
of the wind. Rushing to him, it carried
with the salt of the sea and a cold that was much more frigid than that of the
morn. He fastened the last button and
walked from his home. After ensuring
that the door was indeed locked, he trudged through the bitter air to town. © 2012 MounsellAuthor's Note
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