Part 1: Drifting
Warning: Mild, everyday profanity. No more than your usual movie-quantity profanities, but if you have delicate sensibilities, then I have done right by you with this warning. Right?
Based on this writing prompt from writeworld. If you’re interested enough, feel free to click ‘read more’ after the cut. :) Feedbacks (good, bad, “here are some improvements”, “stop writing!”) are always welcomed.
A floating house, well, I’ll be. Fucking salvation, that’s what it was.
We have been drifting in the tiny dighy for nearly a week now since the tsunami. The dinghy was a lifesaver, but now, stress and cramped spaces are starting to take its toll on the five of us. Damo and Baz already fought twice within this hour, over some long-forgotten and trivial misunderstandings, now suddenly remembered because there is not much entertainment to be had in a tiny dinghy, and old memories have a habit of coming back to you in times of quiet. Their tussles violently rocking the dinghy, threatening to throw all of us overboard, so we had to pry them apart.
Damo was snotting blood—broken nose, probably—my doing, from my effort in kicking them apart. He was shocked at first, at the realization that I, his best mate since practically birth, had assaulted him. And then rage swept his face. I’m sure he was about to lunge at me when Maria yelled, “House, ahoy!”
She has a strange sense of humour, this quiet girl. Sometimes I wonder if it came from the fact that English is her second language, after Filipino. Don’t get me wrong, her English is perfect. Slightly accented, perhaps, but perfect. Regardless, she sometimes can get English expressions wrong.
But no matter, she was right. It was a house, and it was within sight.
Lynn, my sometimes-most-times girlfriend, took a break from her constant sobbing and looked shock instead. It was not the best of expression, but it was a big improvement from her morose expression. Barely a week into our dilemma and already I forgot how I ever found this girl attractive. Right now, her depression and defeatist attitude is so cloying.
“That’s…that’s old Miguel’s house,” she whispered. “Oh, I hope he is not…”, then she broke down again. Fuck me, this girl stores gallons of tears or what? Could have used all that tear water for drinking water.
“Crazy old man Miguel?” Barry said. “How d’you know this his house? Plenty of houses look like this.”
“He is NOT a crazy old man!” Lynn shrieked. “He is a nice old guy, he was just lonely, that’s all! Everyone is crazy to you, because YOU ARE THE FUCKING SANEST PERSON, AREN’T YOU, you fuck of a pri…” She was shrieking and sobbing alternately, both in irritatingly epic, hysterical proportion that if she doesn’t stop soon, I’m gonna have to chuck her out of this dighy. See how she shrieks and sob when she’s drowning, that’ll teach her.
For fuck sake, I’m going crazy too. Less than two weeks ago, my mind was constantly preoccupied on fucking the fuck out of this goddess. Now, this goddess is becoming an annoying hag. Mum told me once that if ever I am ready to settle down, I must first drive the girl I’m with to the point of high stress, because “that will show you what kind of a hag she will be ten years into the marriage, after bills, mortgages and three kids. If you can stand that hag she is, marry her. If you find it irritating, annoying, grating, then don’t marry her.”
Safe to say I ain’t marrying this one, then, Ma.
Fuck, can’t think about me Ma now, or I will be breaking down in tears too.
Focus, grasshopper. Focus.