I always dreamed of sailing on an old 1800 century clipper ship, so I love to write nautical short, short, stories on occasion.
A mighty ship sailed high upon the black sea. A ruff bearded sea captain bravely fought at the helm. Steady as she goes, the bow sharply cut through the white capped waves. The sound of gale speed winds ripped through the tall square sail rigging, as if it were trying despretly to capsize her, and pull her beneath the rageing waves of the ocean depths. Men struggled for their very own lives with beads of salty sweat pouring from their brows. They were working hard to secure the sails high upon the mast. Not to far above the ripped, rain soaked sails appeared to them a terrible cloud whirling about them. The whole crew now startled in dismay from the gloomy sight, with the torn sails, and the helm spinning aimlessly about. There end surely dreweth nigh as the mighty clipper ship, tilled sternward, with the bow rising high toward the sky, was slowly pulled beneath the night storm waves. The sailors last breath was draw bravely, still clinging onto hope up above, then their last prayer to God was uttered, and they were eternally swept underneath the furious waves.
