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Oct. 28, 2008 There was a long and winding stairway that went down the mountain towards the ferryboat. On both sides were trees that reached upwards even to the overcast sky. There was a waterfall and it was sending mist on the walkers as they traveled down to the boat. The stairs retained the energy of the people that had walked down them. Hundreds. Thousands. Millions. In the mid-afternoon, the ferryboat arrived. Everyone piled on, and the sound of the engines was assuring. Wind pushed against the sides of the boat and up over the railings. It made your knuckles cold, and if you looked closely around the vessel told tales. Scratches and stains, solid ropes yes but frayed. Thoughts of grease, of paint chips, of the idea of things themselves. A trouble light. Raincoats. Key rings. The ferry arrived. The passengers started to make their way off. One time, when the land was older, the people were wilder or maybe just less contained. The wind was something that never changed. This wind was always strong, always cold, ready to climb over things like the sides of boats to make knuckles uneasy. ------------ About the Author: For more of Brian's short stories, visit his website: http://www.freewebs.com/storyandstory/. Email Brian Barbeito: Brian1750@Hotmail.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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