Escovar
The white ship cut through the warm Pacific Ocean waters with ease, making a small chopping sound everytime a wave hit the bow. The ship rocked in the waters, puffing along at a steady pace, heading due west. She was quite a young vessel, setting sail only a few days after construction was complete. Her first destination is a port in Hawaii; to bring vacationers, people looking for work any where they can, and a politician or two, all about their own business in the sunny islands, with their own seperate agendas. The weather was said to be rather pleasant, almost always sunny, white, sandy beaches, and friendly natives to make a home or a memorable experience. One such traveller was a raccoon by the name of Timothy, he had been hurt hard by the money problems in America, and had foresaw the cancer taking hold in the nation. He left for a new future, sure he could find it in the oceans. He could have stayed; but his wife had left him to live with her parents in New York. It was a dirty thing to do, so he didn't even bother telling her he was going to go abroad, feeling sore after the blow to his dignity.
Currently he was taking full advantage of the cabin, napping away on the stiff cot. It was morning; though outside the porthole it was dark as night. The only thing audible was the snoring of the raccoon and the pounding of rain on the creaking hull of the ship. Next to the cot was a side table with a book and a pair of dark pants on it. The floor was a lamenated wood paneling, making that hollow tapping sound if one were to walk on it. The cot was bolted against the wall, with a small pillow and a thick blanket both colored a creamy tan. The door was also wooden, with a brass knob against the dark brown backdrop. The porthole was circular; with a metal ring bolted down on the perimeter to keep it sturdy. Timothy turned over in his sleep, murring at the comfort of the cot. A muffled crash of thunder erupted from outside the porthole, causing him to stir slightly. The steady rocking of the ship was progressively getting rougher, then the bow started rising and falling by the yard. The room lit up suddenly lit up, and the boom of thunder crashed like a train wreck. Timothy bolted upright, rubbing his eyes with both paws. He felt the rocking of the ship, and payed it no more heed then a pebble in the desert. He sighed, and rolled up his sleeves past his elbows. He put on his pants and clipped on his suspenders, then tried standing up. He almost instantly tripped, catching himself with a gasp on the side of the cot. He stumbled towards the door with the rocking of the ship, noticing the abnormal changes of altitude.
The raccoon groped the handle , using it to keep balance. When the ship dropped again, he turned the handle and crashed through the door. The lamps of the hall were flickering on and off, and there was no one in sight. He rushed down the hall to the stairs, only to be greeted by water trickling down the staircase. But the ship couldn't go down on it's maiden voyage, can it? With a grimace he remembered the Titanic, the "unsinkable" ship. Yes, it can mister. Why not? He pounded up the clockwise stairs with one paw on the handrail. The metal stairs made an echoing sound each time his bare footpaws came to contact with them, leaving a very faint pawprint in the puddles. The ship lurched forward, and Timothy tripped, landing on his paws, covering the pads in water. The drippage was thicker now, water built up on each step, leaking off and drippling onto the next step. He reached for the handrail and grasped it, heaved himself up, and continued going up. He finally reached the door, with water leaking under it.
Timothy pulled the door open slowly, but then it burst open, propelled by about a foot of water. It smashed and pulled at his foot paws; had he not been gripping the handle, he would have tumbled down the stairs. He dragged himself through, the water receding as it flooded down the stairs, making it to where he could slosh down the hall with little resistance. All the doors in the hall were closed; and a solitary light bulb hung from the ceiling. There were water marks on the walls, a zig zag that manged to still make a line. The metal walls creaked as the ship jumped and fell, Timothy's foot paws made a muffled clinking sound on the metal grate floor as he walked. He approached a second pair of stairs, and could see the light from outside the ship, a deep blue angainst the grey backdrop of the metal wall. He rounded the corner, and was met by a barrage of blinding rain droplets. It pelted him relentlessly, stinging like a swarm of wasps. The entire lit up in a blurry mush from a blast of lightning, and he could make out the shapes of other figures scrambling on the deck.
The wind was driving the rain sideways, making white arrows on the deck with the racket of a machine gun. The waves crashed over skyward upon making contact with the vessel, sending white and grey spray all over the deck. Each waves' contact knocked the ship in whichever direction the momentum of the wave pushed it, making everything on and in it rock and tip. Timothy clambered across the deck, grabbing onto whatever he could, making his way to the moving figures in the shape of the sailors doing something with the lifeboats. From behind him, erupting from the corridor he just came out of, a loud metallic screeching sound deafened him, making his ears ring. Covering his ears with both paws, he spun around to be met with the storm ripping the entire cabin off the very ship. With wide eyes; swaying from the wind and rain, he watched the horrific scene of the ship being torn in two by the mighty Pacific ocean, metal scrunching over the din of the storm, sparks flying out of the walls, metal being molded right before his eyes. Water began creeping up the deck towards him, but he didn't notice; he was still in shock. Momentarily it had made it to his feet, slowly engulfing them in it's icy grasp. Only when it finally reached his ankles did he take heed. Timothy looked down at his bare foot paws, slowly registering what was happening. He turned around again to clamber to the sailors, but they weren't there.
He sloshed to the railing, gripping the cold, slippery metal, and watched with horror as the sailors rowed away in the only lifeboats. His grip tightened, thinking this is how he'll go. Dear God, no, this shouldn't, couldn't be it! He felt guilty at not telling his wife that he was going overseas. She wouldn't know what happened to him. She would probably be worried sick, for months. Leaving like this was a very greedy thing, he concluded, and now he was paying for it. Sincerely. He felt his weight slowly sliding to his right, he looked that way, and there was the ascending water line. He decided he will pass on like this, in the freezing waters of the north Pacific ocean, looking for his future elsewhere, only to find his end. He closed his eyes and held on to the rail with all his strength, and let the water overtake him.
On the white beaches of the island known to the inhabitants only as "Escovar", a limp, soggy form washed onto the seaweed strewn beach, occasionally getting pushed and pulled by the current. It lay there for several hours, face up, with gulls cawing and circling above the strange form. One such brave bird decided to take a peck at it. It landed a few feet away from it. Hop. Hop. It cocked it's head to the side. Peck. The monster stirred quickly and lashed out at the terrified bird. It took off in a fluster.
Timothy thought he should have been dead. He should. But he was awake on a white, sandy beach, the tiny blip of a storm cloud receding on the horizon. The sun was blinding him, he tried shielding his eyes from it, but it just reflected off the sand into his eyes. He could see a little if he squinted his eyes shut really tight. The sun was obviouslly not on his side, he felt like he was baking in his own skin. He painfully heaved himself to his feet, using his hands as props. He shuffled through the sand, kicking up a bit as he went. The gulls still flew overhead, obviouslly not happy with their denial of a meal. He turned to the side, and facing him was the thickest jungle he had ever seen. The gulls called harshly, probably telling me to lay back down, he thought blandly.
The forrest was his best way to go; because it was the only way to go. He tromped up to the tree line, noting the coconuts lying everywhere, and stopped in the cool shade of the trees. He layed out among the coconuts, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.