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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
To Quiet the Little Voice - 2. You do know what a compass is don't you?
A slightly cleaned up version of my original prompt response.
How can three people get into such deep water so fast?
Prompt 212
I woke slowly, feeling very disoriented. Half afraid to move, I couldn't fathom why it felt like I was moving. Like the entire bedroom I was in was moving.
Eventually I tried to sit up, moaning with every movement. God what the hell did I drink last night? The ale with dinner shouldn't make me feel like this. Then at the bar I was drinking club soda. It was my turn to be the designated driver.
Wait. My turn. So how did I end up here, where the hell is here, and who got that drunken bunch of nutcases I call friends home?
I jumped when the door suddenly swung open. The guy standing there looked like every wet dream of every gay man and straight woman all rolled into one .At 6’2 of blond haired blue eyed perfection, lean but not skinny, he was the perfect mix of padding and hard muscle. And the whole package was very tempting, mouthwatering even, cased loosely in cutoff jeans and a pair of bright blue flip flops. They looked like they were chosen to match his eyes. The only real problem I could think of at the moment is I didn't have a clue who he was!
Wait – that isn't quite true, I could think of a lot of other problems. Like why was this room trying its hardest to make me carsick?
“Well finally! Your buddy out here tells me you might just be able to get us back to dry land in one piece. How’s your head?”
I guess the very blank look on my face gave him the first clue I was pretty much at a loss.
“Come on out on deck and have some coffee. I finally figured out how to work the stove in the galley. Once your brain comes back on line I’ll introduce myself again. Then we need to talk.”
“Ummm, deck? Boat. Ok – that explains why the room feels like it is moving. Where is the head?”
Now it was his turn to have a blank look on his face.
“The head? Water closet? You know – the toilet???”
“OH!” his face brightened with recognition. “It’s just out this door and on the right. See you up on deck in a few minutes. There’s a fresh toothbrush and other stuff in the top drawer. Those I found pretty fast. It was working the goofy toilet I had problems with. I don’t spend much time on dad’s baby.” he laughed as he went down the long narrow hall and up a short flight of steps.
Ten minutes later I was feeling somewhat human again, even if I couldn't figure out where the lump on the back of my head came from. At least it did explain the headache and lack of memory since I couldn't have been drunk on club soda. I slowly made my way out onto the deck of what had to be the biggest sport fisher I have ever been on. Lounging out across the back seat was my best friend Brian. He had been wasted last night when I was trying to pour him into my jeep. SOB didn't even look hung over!
Pour him into my jeep? Explains why my head hurts! I was trying to get him into the seat belt when he lurched forward and I slipped off the curb. I must have hit my head when I fell.
“Good morning sunshine. Bout time you woke up. Thought you were gonna sleep through the whole cruise. I see you met my new boyfriend Kenny.”
“New boyfriend? You moved fast. Last I remember it was about 1 am and you were blasted and I was trying to put you in the seat to take you home.”
“No grass growing under these feet” he giggled as he wiggled his bare toes at me. “This tub belongs to his father. After you fell I was gonna drive us both back to your place but Kenny came along and didn't think I should be driving. We went to the marina instead and put you to bed, then decided a moonlight cruise and maybe some fishing would be fun. We have fresh tuna fish for breakfast if you are interested. Well, maybe it’s more like dinner now.”
I looked around. There was no land to be seen anywhere. That meant we had to be at least three miles out to sea. Brian didn't know enough about boats to be taking one out this far. I looked at this Kenny person.
“Did you say something before about my getting us back to land? Don’t you know how to handle your own boat?”
He looked up at me through his lashes with such a sheepish expression I could be angry with him. Brian however was another story all together.
“So you two don’t know Jack Diddly about navigation and you have us more than three miles off shore and god knows how much further? And the sun is setting, so we will be out here into the night at least. PLEASE tell me you didn't hit anything going out of port!”
Brian shrugged casually. “You know what you are doing- you can get us home I am sure.”
“Brian, I just woke up more than 12 hours after hitting my head. It’s pounding and the aspirin I took hasn't done a damn thing yet. I should be in bed – not navigating a sport fisher I am not familiar with out at sea with a storm on the horizon! Look at all the star fish floating around us! The storm has to be a whopper if they are swimming that close to the surface out here!”
“Calm down, have some coffee and some of the fish. You will feel better. Then we can dig through the charts dad has and if Brian is even half right about you we will be home in no time.”
I hate it when people are being reasonable when I want to rant.
There were a lot of charts in the cabinet – all rolled neatly and stored in plastic tubes so it looked like the way a captain would have stored them in antiquity. It took me a long time to sort through and chose the two which should cover where ever we were at the moment.
“Ummm – pardon the dumb question, but if you have no clue where we are or how to get back in, just where are you driving to?”
“When I figured out we were pretty lost I didn't want to make things worse. I have been steering in a huge circle for about the last hour at dead slow. You can see the wake all the way around so except for a bit of drift with the current we aren't getting any loster.”
“Loster? Oh my. Lost, semi-logical, and makes up his own words too. Terrific.”
“Hey Guys? Just what the hell is this thing?” Brian was swinging the sword from what must have been close to a record sized swordfish around like a 5 year old playing pirate. I laughed and shook my head as Kenny explained how guys take the swords as permanent souvenirs when they are planning to eat the fish and not have them stuffed.
“Ok Kenny – where’s the sextant and dividers?”
“Ummm – if you tell me what they are I might be able to tell you.”
“Oh good lord! How about a compass? You do know what a compass is, don’t you?”
A slightly cleaned up version of my original prompt response.
How can three people get into such deep water so fast?
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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