The Storm

The Storm

A Story by Mounsell
"

A 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 Mounsell


Author's Note

Mounsell
This is a work in progress so please don't criticize any sudden endings.

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Standing at the dock, Cormac used his binoculars to glass the violent sea. The thick haze limited his view(viability. Save view for your next sentence and don't use it twice) (He was able to view only a small area before him. - delete - this is what limited viability is.) 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 - Slowly the sun revealed its entirety (, the fog remained copious.-delete) (don't like copious - thick?) Cormac removed the binoculars' strap from his neck. He wrapped it around his fist and (peered-looked, peered to me is a limited vision) to the east. (, into the faint sun?)

Standing at the center of the pier, Cormac (still) bore the brunt of (those -the) frothy waves that crashed against its columns. His clothing was (soon - delete) soaked. (H)e 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 (little- let him suffer) relief. He quickened his stride and continued down the dirt road that stretched before him.

Within the hour, Cormac reached the edge of (his? the town of his birth? what town?) town. At this point, the earthen road he had followed merged with one of cobblestone. (He chose the cobbled street that veered to his left?)(A church stood here at the apex of dirt and paving.) The sullied windows and worn exterior contributed to this structure's ancient appearance.
(Lining this path- Further down) was a collection of various shops, each weathered by age and climate.

(Moving down the cobbled road,- delete) As he walked further, Cormac listened to the sounds of life that came from (many of- delete)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,- had traversed town) he saw that the weather had calmed (tremendously.-delete) and the fog began to disperse(.) (and Cormac was able see much further than he had before.-delete) (He looked out upon the sea and saw that it) The sea had calmed greatly. (As the wind died down,) Cormac's walk became much less difficult.

*** OK, I'm confused. He walked an hour from the sea but he is still at the sea? Did he walk along the shore? When the weather calmed we expect that the fog, wind and sea would all be improved. Too many sentences are used to convey this. Pick one, maybe combne two. Keep it brief. The way you have it written it sound like the weather magically improved in the amount of time it took him to walk from one end of the very tiny town to the other. Did you intend that?)

Let me know if you would like me to continue...

My critiques tend to be harsh. I don't mean them to be. I like your story.

Please critique my work too. http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/doulasaz/1190709/

Posted 7 Years Ago



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Added on June 10, 2012
Last Updated on June 10, 2012
Tags: island, storm, atlantic, boat, ship, beach, shore, coast, jacket, old, hut, town, village, lighthouse, cold, breeze, wind, gust, windy

Author

Mounsell
Mounsell

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A Story by Mounsell


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A Story by Mounsell


Salton Salton

A Story by Mounsell