When Disaster Struck

I bet you're reading this, sitting down somewhere, reflecting on your life and thinking you are pretty cool. That really nice shirt you wore to the club last week. The way all those girls were looking at your moves when you hit the floor. The music you listen to. The cars you drive. Idiot. You haven't seen shit. You're a pampered, protected and spoilt suck up to your parents, who do everything and anything you want to make you smile. Make you smile. Wow. Just imagine. What would you be if you were on your own, with no one to help you. Nothing better than the hobo at the bottom of your street. Which'll probably be me. Yeah. Me.

I bet you haven't survived a typhoon. I bet you haven't escaped from the clutches of some Afghanistani abductionologistist dudes. No. I bet you haven't been chased halfway across America by some Russian rednecks whose babies smoke weed, and whose wives get high on apples. No. You haven't, have you? And you think you've lived a pretty action packed life. Spoilt bitch.

My name is Nick. Nick Hamilton. I'm going to break the rules because I hate describing myself and if I did you will stop reading. So lets just say I look normal. Normal hair, normal eyes, the lot. But I'm no more in my glory days.
Look, now I'm 77, okay, so I'm probably your average old dude living in the cottage at the bottom of your street. You drive past me everyday in your fake Chinese Lexus, and you probably see me as an old bag of wheat who has no sexual life and is a knuckle dragger that will tell you stories around a warm fire about WW2 and rock in his rocking chair and put on his false teeth every morning and look down at his small dick and weep cos he never got laid and.....NO BITCH!

I have lived life, okay. In fact, everything I listed in the above paragraph has happened to me. Not the directly above one, the one above that. Can't find it? It's just a bit to the left, up your ass and around the corner. There we go. See it? Oh, so now you want to hear my stories. Okay. Well have a seat......
So you see, it all began when disaster struck.

The sea was calm. The sky was blue. Okay, I'll fail English if I go on like this. The sea was glassy and flat, and the turquoise ocean reflected the perfectly blue sky, filled with clouds that looked like bleached cotton. I reclined on the deck chair on the deck of our yacht. That is, belonging to my family. So yes, we were at sea. The perfection of the Caribbean waters was rewarding to my endorphins. If anyone can relate to that. No perhaps.
I decided to do something very dangerous at that point. I was going to say something very harmful, but just to prove how lovely the day was, nothing will happen. So I said it.

"Nothing could possibly go wrong!"

Okay, so lets just say that it's not only in the movies where this happens. I looked up, and the clouds were beginning to darken. I rubbed my eyes, because it was probably just my imagination, showing me what I wanted to see. Or didn't want to see. Or whatever. I'm a confused individual. Anyway, that calm sky was not looking so calm sky-like anymore, and was starting to look like a not so calm sky-like sky. And I was just standing there, eyes bulged, mouth open, wondering how the hell and what the hell and why the hell and looking like some baby albatross waiting for its share of that sea bass that daddy caught out at sea. Or mommy. Or Uncle Joe. Whatever, the bigger bird. I should now explain that I do not know much about fish, and a sea bass is probably too large to be used in such context as this. Probably.

So anyway the news flash in my head goes like this. Ok let's skip that bit because of technical difficulties and just say I've messed up big time. Like on the bright side I just performed a jaw dropping magic trick, but the downside is that I'm looking up at a sky that looks like if fell straight out a Thor movie.
The clouds grew even darker, but the sea was still flat, and my smoothie was still pink, and Kurt Cobain was still dead, so nothing worth thinking about had really happened yet. But that didn't feel satisfying enough, and I really needed to look one more time. So I did. 😊.

One drop. One single, glistening drop of hydrogen and hydrogen and oxygen that tasted of sodium and chlorine, splashes on the tip of my small rounded nose, and splashed into 17 smaller pieces, falling to their death towards the polished wooden deck of our Audi Quattro engine powered custom yacht from Monaco Yacht building club as a gift to my dad when he left the club. It had began to rain. Rain. Like RAIN. Was it seriously my face or something? Two times in a row. I could just picture myself looking up again and, yay,hat trick, and it would turn to a typhoon or something.

The thing is, I was a cool 14 year old. I had SWAG. I was not LAME. I was your average "Anaconda-don't-want-none-unless-you've-got-buns-hun" sort of dude. I was FRESH to the power of Bassey's shirt size. So rain couldn't mess me up. Rain? That silly stuff. Oh NO WAY! I stayed on that deck and took the rain like a REAL, SWAGGY, FRESH, UNLAME, dude. Yes I was a dude, so I stayed out in the rain like I wasn't feeling a thing.

Ok I was. And it was really pissing me off. I was the only one on the deck of the yacht, and I was absolutely soaked. The torrential rain poured down relentlessly, whipping the skin on my cheeks to flushed red, and stinging my arms. I stood up and made my way for the door, but I slipped and fell on the cold, wet, hard wooden deck. I grazed my arm, and the salty water stung the wound.

"BANG!"

"CRASH!"

The sky lit up in an electric blue glow, and veins of lightning filled the sky. It was like a scene from "The Amazing SpiderMan II" , and the atmosphere was just as hostile. I stood up and stumbled across the deck to the cold metal door, and tried to punch in the 4 character passcode. A double beep, red flash of light, silence. I tried again. Sequence repeat. I tried again. Reloop. I was in so much frustration.
"Hello!", I screamed at the door. No answer.

"Could someone open up this SHIT!"

Not a sound. Okay there were lots of sounds. The waves crashing against the hull of out yacht, the boom of the thunder, the electrifying buzz of lightning, and the rain. The rain. It was horrible.
I knocked hard on the door, but my small graze was starting to mash up with puss and diluted blood. I was so annoyed I pulled back my fist and rammed it straight into the console on the door.

A spark.

"Yoooowww!"

I had to jump back, and if shook my right fist like there was a spider on it.

Another spark.

I looked at the console.

Another spark.

I panicked.

"Fizzzzzzzzz",...the console was now sparking uncontrollably, and I was scared of a fire starting. Now I was sure I had done something in Science about electrical fires...what was it again? Something about water. I slid my had across the water soaked deck, flicking a few drops of water onto the console.

Holy shit.

Holy motherfucking shit.