Drip, drip, drip, splash. Drip, drip, drip.
He opened his eyes. Brown, wood. He was laying on wood. Old wood too. It was all rotten and wet. He realized he was wet too, and very cold. He lifted his head and looked around. He was laying on a dock, shrouded in mist. the sea lapped underneath but he could barely see the water for the mist. He blinked. Several times. The whiteness made his eyes hurt. His head was very sore, and he ached all over. He began to shiver, and the dock creaked dangerously. He had better get off it, as it didn't seem very sturdy. His hands felt something more wet and smooth than wood, it was some sort of cloth. He dragged it with him as he carefully inched forward. The dock was short, although others branched off to the right. Finally he collapsed on the pebbley beach, overwhelmed with exhaustion as his vision failed him.
YOU ARE READING
Fishtail
FantasyThe Sea: the unfathomable Sea, where mysterious shadows lurk, and the ever crushing current churns overhead. Many thing live in the Sea, Creatures of unimaginable proportions, unknown dwellers of the dark. What all lives in the Sea? The Sailors can...
