A description of a boat in a storm – by Alina (age 15)

Far in the distance, the horizon began to quiver. Low bruised clouds hung on the unsettled skyline, tugging nature’s plague behind them.

A storm was brewing.

The silent waves were no longer idly staring at the world above them; instead, mother nature’s infuriated army, massing, stared back, beckoning them to join their ranks. No longer silent, nor idle, the waves embodied all of nature’s wrath, lashing and whipping anyone and anything in sight.

The small boat floating on the ocean had no choice but to receive each ferocious attack. Paralysed in the midst of the battle, the feeble body of the boat was continuously abused by each crashing wave – as though it were a deer within a lion’s den, entrapped, with nowhere to run. Trembling, windows were coated by the merciless waves, leaving the crew inside fearfully staring into the empty abyss of the inky sea. Although the tiny windows were blotted with the spray of the murky water, blasts of thunder were heard and shook the frail boat. Hearing every shriek, the sailors envisaged the bolts of electricity dominating the sky and braced themselves for the next attack.

The lightning darted across the empty granite sky, stripping the air of its final breath. Bolts of rage blasted the inky void and, as every strike of lightning threatened the stray boat, it inched away, seeking comfort in a distant rocky cove. It was as though the Gods themselves were partaking in the war; Zeus’ demonic spears hammered on the sickly sea, unleashing his rage upon the human world.

After every lethal spear was released, the land and sea shuddered, revealing something far on the horizon. The sailors had spotted a lone beam of light, crying out, a melancholy symbol of futile hope. The vigorous storm had swung the little boat closer towards the shore. Possibly a mile away; probably a bit more. Nobody dared succumb to the feelings of joy and relief – the war was far from over.

Inside the boat, the crescendo almost mirrored the frantic scene outside.

Some ran around screaming for supplies, some desperately attempted to contact home for help, some were attempting to inflate a safety boat. The rest of the sailors, limp and defeated, sluggishly began to pray for help from their benevolent God, oblivious to the reality that they were unwilling to accept: their omnipotent God was their opponent in battle.

Secluded in his cabin, the Captain attempted to manoeuvre the defenceless boat back to shore. Despite his determined efforts, in the end, his actions were rendered useless as the storm shifted its course towards a swirling pool of desolation in the centre of the menacing ocean. There was no way back – nature had already planned the abrupt end of those sailors’ lives as the horizon thinned and disappeared out of sight. The sea was all that was left as the storm clawed at the boat, taking the sailors’ sanity with it.

Although the boat was no longer seen, swallowed by the wrath of the ocean, a glimpse of sunlight leaked through a chink in the clouds, chasing the bruised clouds away from the now glistening sky.