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Weekly Contest #370
June 21st, year 1700“Patience,” preached my father, “is the human quality closest to sainthood.” At the ripe age of ten, I had heard the sermon a thousand times over, an’ it did nothin’ to calm my nerves. As patient as my father was, there was not much of it left over to listen to my worries. We had been set off course by the winds, a usual happening aboard the Argenta. Danzig was supposed to have come into view days ago. I had already asked old Eli Baker why we hadn’t yet docked more than a million times. The Argenta was a dangerous brig. M...
He woke up with no memory, but for an instant, as his eyes opened, he remembered being in his mother’s womb. He remembered safety, but not when the dark warmth was replaced with sterile fluorescents, and the smell of oranges—a smell of his childhood—had been replaced with the sting of antiseptics. Somewhere near him a machine beeped, matching his heartbeat. He looked around, cold, thousands of little tubes protruding his skin. His clothes were gone, replaced by a paper-thin “gown”. A doctor walked in, checked the machines, wrote something do...
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