Writing Prompt

May 16th:

It's only been five days, but I can see the looks they share; I hear the quiet whispers that fade as soon as I walk into the room. Even Alyne seems to be judging my every move, just waiting for the right moment.

I had passed by the stern, the sun high above us at the time, Ulric rested on the mast as he fingered his dagger. His eyes trained on a mark only he knew as he hummed the sea shanty. This was not unusual for the man, I had often seen him in his own world, thought the tune of the song had sent shivers up my spine. He had caught me gaze and fell silent; he knew as well as I did what that tune meant.

Munity.

May 20th:

The water is as harsh as their stares. They stopped forcing smiles when I walk by, it's just a matter of days now, and there's nothing I can do.

May 23rd:

Not one person isn't on edge. I sense that there may be those few who are loyal, yet they know what's better for them and don't come out of hiding. No, they pretend to be like the rest.

May 30th:

The days have carried on like the rest, there had been nothing to write, until today.

I had been resting in my quarters, when Luella knocked. She twisted sheets of fiery hair around her finger as she came in, shutting the door firmly behind her. Her eyes meet mine, soft tears running down her cheeks.

Though it was hours ago I remember her words clearly, "They’re all against you. There's no where you can run. I want you to live, what can I do to help?"

I had smiled, pulling her in for a hug.

June 3rd:

Luella wasn't at her post, come dawn; nor was she anywhere to be seen. She wasn't there when Carac lead me down to the brig, she wasn't there when he threated to pull the trigger. But now, I'm glad she wasn't there to see me take out my own gun and fire. Glad she would never hear the thud of Carac's body.

June 5th:

Carac's death had scared them, but death was common, it happened. I write in the morning today because I fear it might be my last.

---

I trace my finger along the leather, wiping off the last bit of sand from the cover of the captain's log. Closing my eyes, imagining a happy ending for the captain. One that I know didn't happen.

The Draftless, Captain Hunter Hobson. Day: Thirteen. Coordinates: 49°56'40.6"N 2°41'37.1"W

The crew have complained again. I have the right mind to open the hatch and let them fall. But watching them plummet would be somewhat unfavourable on my part—as the seafarers below like to say, I’d be up a creek without a paddle without them.

Yet, they have complained again. About what? I can not answer.

Their jobs are to keep the coal burning and the propellers turning. They shouldn't have enlisted if they found the living quarters unsatisfactory or weren't expecting blisters to marry their hands.

The first rule of aeronautics: Anticipate the worst.

An airship could drift, stranded, among the clouds for days with no port with which to dock or passing ship to aid them. A crew must be hardy, well versed in the dangers of the sky.

If the men want to suck their thumbs and wish each other sweet dreams at night's end, who am I to comment. But to complain about a burn from the engine's fires or the high altitude forcing their minds to fuzz— I can not begin to understand.

Perhaps Skyport Notus will provide a more ample crew.

The Draftless, Captain Hunter Hobson. Day: Sixteen. Coordinates: 49°10'18.4"N 19°27'18.5"W

The crew have complained again through means of vandalism. Sometimes before breakfast, letters of mutiny were sprayed about the quarter-deck (I have attached a daguerreotype of the scene).

First-mate Barlow discovered young Fox with the spray can down his breeches, and on later inspection, I uncovered flakes of red paint buried under young Dottie's nails. They received two lashes and are locked in the cupboard of my cabin and shall be flogged once we arrive at in port.

The Draftless, Captain Hunter Hobson. Day: Seventeen. Coordinates: 50°39'26.6"N 25°35'15.9"W

Yesterday's punishment has had a somewhat negative effect on the remaining crew. Although The Draftless continues her course towards Skyport Notus, I've noticed more hostility and belligerence. My solve in the matter has resulted in a cut in their rations and a lash for each.

Whilst it appears half the crew still pledge their loyalty to me, I can't deny that a dash of concern hasn't crossed my mind.

The Draftless, Captain Hunter Hobson. Day: Seventeen. Coordinates: 51°33'23.9"N 27°17'55.9"W

I woke to the clash of cutlasses and yells of the wounded. Barlow came rushing to my cabin, a bloodied gash in his side and the words of murder on his lips. The crew had turned, slaughtering those who stayed loyal to the end. Soon thereafter, bootsteps hammered on the stairs, and I dead-bolted my cabin door. The titanium seems to be holding.

I offered Barlow dressing for his wound, but he soon passed in my arms, his cut too deep. His body now rests in the tub, submerged in the last of my rum. Hopefully, the smell will hold out: I've already resulted in wrapping a handkerchief around my mouth; the stench from the chamber pot is proving hard to bear.

The Draftless, Captain Hunter Hobson. Day: Twenty. Coordinates: 72°52'22.6"N 4°27'32.8"W

We are nearing the coast of Whitefay, with approximately two hundred clicks to Skyport Notus. Snow-capped mountains are visible through my window, and white mist swirls the air with each breath. I located a pair of fur-lined mittens, but I fear for my fingers; I can no longer feel the pen beneath the fabric.

Barlow remains in the tub. I wrapped my bed drapes over his body; I couldn't tolerate looking at the taut, waxen mask of his face any longer.

One of the young ones is weeping from the cupboard. I feel as though I should show some decency and let them go, but who's to say they won't slice my throat as soon as I unlock the door. So there they will remain.

The Draftless, Captain Hunter Hobson. Day: Twenty. Coordinates: 62°41’15.3"N 3°43'26.7"W

Frost has claimed the cabin windows. I am down to my last candle snub. I have collected all my spare paper in the hopes of starting a fire and—

Shouts have erupted from up on deck, and I fear—

Yes, that's them thumping on the door. I must ...

**

“Ellis, come look."

Violet brushed a clump of snow from the brown leather cover with a gloved hand.

“A book?" Ellis groaned from behind; his coat zipped up to his chin. “Seriously? Ma said to look for something useful."

“Don't pout! It's a Captain's log, I think. See the Airship on the front?" Violet flipped the cover, and the spine croaked. “It's from The Draftless. Look!"

Charred grime tainted the torn edges of the yellowed papers. Words that once coiled in twisted a cursive smudged across the page, and Violet brushed a gloved finger over the airships title.

Ellis lifted his goggles, his nose scrunching at the soiled page. "How does it end?"

“We know how it ends, dummy," Violet said, shutting the log with a snap. “A fire, a wreck and two survivors. Come on—"

“Ow! Stop grabbing my hand so hard!"

“Wimp! Come, we have to take this to Granpa Fox and Grandma Dottie."

P.S. Kaleidoscope is the name of the ship.

April 29, 2009

It is finally the day. The Kaleidoscope and it’s crew is finally attempting to sail all the way around the world. We were not ready then, but we are ready now!

May 4, 2009

We’ve hit some rocky waves, but it’s mostly good. The cook, Carl, threw up and filled the vomit bucket, so then he puked on a crew member, Andy. Man, he was furious

May 16, 2009

We stopped in Columbia to stretch. I walked around a bit, and found a small village with a giant house. I think it’s called a casita. I don’t really know. There were also flowers on one section, and there was a rainbow over it (wink!) It was a bit weird.

May 22, 2009

We were sailing again, and we played charades to pass the time. Andy was terrible, and somehow the Brinestone twins, Ari and Ani, practically read each other’s minds! It was annoying.

May 30, 2009

We had some fun in Nigeria. I met some friends too. They were very nice. We all went dancing someplace there. Apparently Andy’s got some moves.

June 5, 2009

We kept on sailing, right past South Africa. I waved at some people we passed. I looked away before I could see if they waved back. Kenter was annoyed that I seemed like a tourist when I did that. Meanie.

June 13, 2009

We also went by India to get more supplies and food, and we heard about Bollywood. Like Hollywood, but.. Bolly version? Like bolly, holly, like the.... never mind. We saw the Taj Mahal. It was fun, but India’s like, seriously hot sometimes.

June 21, 2009

We kept on sailing, but it was boring. I talked about life with Ari and Ani, and I became a therapist. But therapists make life better, not worse. And I got the twins into a fight, so they’re ignoring each other. So yeah, guess I’m not a therapist after all.

June 25, 2009

Then we had to get more supplies in the Philippines because Kenton “accidentally” knocked our supplies off the boat. Meanie. But it was worth it because we had some AMAZING food. We had adobo, bulalao, lechon, and chicharon. Man, it was good.

July 3, 2009 We stopped again in Japan to take a sailing break. I made a clay pot. Until Kenter smashed it with a stick because he said it was trash anyway. Meanie.

July 14, 2009

We are heading for some stormy waves. It’s really strong. I don’t think we’re gonna make it. In case we don’t, whoever’s reading this, find the treasure. Go to the liberty and light the torch. It will show where the treasure is. Share it’s fortune with the people in need. The liberty is...

And the rest of the page was ripped off.

P.S. sorry if I got anything wrong in this about the countries😞

Entry #26

Me ship furl along the crashin' waves. The lightnin' from the dark clouds gets much brighter 'n more threatenin'. They remind me o' Davy Jones’s skeletons constantly strikin' against me ship. I fear as though me voyage shall come t' an end in a way that be unimaginable.

Entry #27

I’ve stored all me prized gold doubloons into me booty chest, I shall bury it at me island where nobody shall find it. I shall also keep this wee booklet into the chest where nobody shall witness me documents about me personal life.

Entry #28

Me galleon has been struck by the blasted lightnin'! This shall be me final entry into this diary. I shall attempt t' sail back t' me island t' store this into me chest.

0100 hours - No sign of life on the horizon. Just the steady hum of the universe echoing through the darkness. The ship stays its course navigating alone in a sea of empty space. Why did I choose this life of lonely adventuring?

0300 hours - The witching hour. That time of night when past the hull of my corrugated vessel comes the haunting sounds of invisible beasts. Their roars rattle me to the bones, and sound a like a vacuum turned on at full blast. No, more like the sound of any bear. Mercy on us all should they ever decide to wake up and find us.

0400 hours - Consulted with my second-in-command, Captain Teddy "Ursus" Rogers, on the nature of hour mission, exploring the bleak and empty universe. I asked him if he ever gets lonely. He says all he has to do is tug on his heartstrings and he can hear the sound of home in his mind. I wanted to debate him further on the ease of this comfort, but some sudden thuds in the distance made us cut our conversation short.

0600 hours - We passed under starlight, soft rays of yellow like bouncing off our ship. We both slept through our watch, leaving our defenses down in an enemy galaxy quadrant. I hear the sounds of an armada approaching, like tiny anvils on a tin drum, as we scrambled to move our ship out of view.

0700 hours - After an eternity of the enemy blaring their sirens, the unimaginable has happened: They've woken one of the beasts! In the fresh rays from the nearby star I observed it in detail: long and gangly, with striped, billow flesh and lanky limbs. I stare at it in awe but try to remain hidden. But Teddy points out a potential flaw: Our invisibility shield is only half closed. How could we be so careless!

0800 hours - Grounded for staying up all night playing in the empty moving boxes. Again.

August 1st XXXX

The sun struck again. Bearing down on the boat like a mother on her dirty child. The crewman didn’t last an hour under our everlasting star. The sea water festers on the sturdy wood, shifting from one side of the boat to the other as the waves rock us to and fro.

There is no wind today, the sails are quiet and the fish scarce. We’ve been drifting for days and the bread has been gone for even longer. But still, at night with the clear water beneath me, I look to the stars and wonder which ocean you found yourself in.

The edge of the world bleeds into a rainbows. Pinks and purples and greens and blues. Blending and bending around the clouds and rain and empty skies as day after day pass without any incident. It feels too calm here, without the trouble you brought my crewman have gotten bored, have started to sing and write and paint.

I wake in the morning with a sadness that is still bone deep. And I eat the meager breakfast we can scrounge. And we pull up the empty lines and keep on drifting and pray for the wind to pick up.

And all I can think about is you.

September 1st XXXX

The wind picked up a fortnight ago, we’ve been sailing smooth to the east since. The world is quiet and we haven’t seen another boat for months. The crew are getting weary at the peace. They’ve begun to mutter and whisper and sing in the dead of night. Some of them say we’ve sailed to the end of the world.

Where life has gone void and we have died.

I know I’m not dead. It’s as simple as the ideas from their heads of where you’ve gone. I still feel, so I still live. At first, they wondered aloud. The screamed and screeched until the whales below us bellowed. We’ve shot down the few birds that wondered our way, but meat had grown rare and I long for your song.

My mind fights sleep and my body fights movement. I’ve begun looking to the stars again, thinking of the Gods long lost of where you came from. I don’t wish anymore, that is futile but still my gaze follows the bright sweeping lights across our endless sky. I wonder if we are sharing the moon, if we are telling the stories of the same constellations, if we are both wishing for the love we had shared.

I miss you.

October 1st XXXX

We have seemed to travel to the cold side of our earth, frozen icebergs and pure white bears. We have not ventured on land, my crew and me all know the feel of forbidden land, untouched by our greedy humans hands and free of all corruption. I know you would have loved to see it, you beautiful eyes would have brighten like the lights that flow above our heads.

When I saw those marvelous lights, I cried. Hot tears against my face, warm in face of the icy wind you would have laughed at. You had always loved the biting cold in contrast to my love of the sweltering heat and when we had found happiness in those breezy sunny islands so very far west. The last time we were ever happy.

Before the voice, before the woman, before the cliffs. You had the biggest smile on your face as you dived off the ship so long ago, that I couldn’t even resent you for picking her over me. I had loved you with everything I was, and I love you even more now.

The stars remind me of your eyes, the shifting clear water of your smile, the contours of sunset mark your features. The sea wind as beautiful and smooth as your voice, the darkening deck that gets closer and closer to the shade of your hair.

I love you.

November 1st XXXX

We’ve had been frozen in this ocean for three days before I left to find our youngest little shiphand . I had the men venture to the ice nearest us to fish. We’ve had more luck here than the open ocean. A blizzard had swarmed us, the boy had hopefully made it back to ship before we were separated. I sit in a cave now, and I can hear the voices you whispered to me about. The sweet songs in the air, drawing you nearer and nearer and nearer-

March 17th, 1762

It’s getting harder and harder to tell where we are, and i’m afraid we might be lost. I don’t know how to tell the crewmen that we are slowly running out of food as the time passes. I have started thinking about death. I am trying to search for answers, digging in my brain for anything that might help. The only thing that I have is we sail in one direction and hope for the best. We have to hit land eventually, right?

March 21st, 1762

We have been sailing east for 5 days now, and there is still no sight of land. The water is getting harder and harder to navigate, and the waves are only getting stronger. I think there is a storm coming soon. I am trying to get these men back to their families, they have their whole lives ahead of them, but I don’t know if it is possible anymore. I think we’re running out of time.

March 23rd, 1762

I think this will be my last entry. Things are bad here. The winds are getting so fierce that we can’t hear ourselves think and everybody is seasick from going over the huge waves. Even if that want an issue, we officially ran out of food. Now that I think about it, dying in a storm wouldn’t be so bad. At least it would be less painful than starving to death. I never thought that I would be in this situation, pondering death. What could I do if I only had more time? At least I got to tell my wife and kids that I love them for one last time.

February 3rd, 1985

Captions log - I often find myself reminiscing..

I remember the way he would slowly run his fingers up and down my back, hands rough. Probably from a cut he got at work, or from one of their three cats. Slowly, and with feather like touch, his fingers ran up and down, up and down. “I love you.” He would whisper. His breathe warmed the back of my neck in just the right way… I can’t wait to feel the warm, safe embrace of his arms. I can’t wait for him to every so slightly bite My lip … I shouldn’t be writing this - so scandalous!

I’m nervous. Tomorrow will be the first time we’ve seen each other in 3 years, and of course there were all the letters back and forth while I was in America, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hard. We’d be lucky to hear from one another twice a month. I love him, I just hope he still loves me.

February 3rd, 1985

Captains log: Today the wind held was against us and so we will not Reach London until tomorrow evening, adding another day to our long trip. At the present moment the skies are clear, water is calm, and the crews morale is high.

Tomorrow is the day.

February 4th, 1985

Captains log: The moment I saw the town appear over the horizon, tears filled my eyes. 3 years and 134 days later I’m is finally returning home.

The docking went smoothly. He wants waiting for me. To be fair how would he know that today would be the day, after all we were 50 behind schedule. But when I went up to pay the docking fee, I couldn’t help myself. I asked, “has anyone come looking for this ship?”

The young lad replied that he did not know of a young man, but did say that my parents stopped by every day and they left their address.

The crew has taken off, no doubt excited to return to their past lives as well - I’m spending the night on the ship tonight. I fear the world that awaits me beyond the dock.

February 5, 1985

Captains log: One thing about the ocean, she’s unpredictable! Last night when I went to bed I could count the stars in the sky, this morning I woke up to torrential rain and the familiar tossing and turning of an angry sea.

Is this a warning, some foreshadowing from above?

I’m stepping off the ship today to visit my parents, they sent a chauffeur to fetch me from the dock. Wish me luck.

February 15, 1985

Captions log: … Being a captain is the thing I’m most proud of in my life. It brings me happiness, it has taught me to respect my surroundings, to appreciate help and learn from others … giving it up is not an option to me…

He left me. Or mutually we agreed that it wasn’t fair, to either of us really, but I would’ve kept fighting as long as he did. He introduced me to his her as his cricket mates sister - she was nice, reminded me of a younger, me. I was happy for him and for me. We both found someone, and for me, something, that truly makes us excited to wake up in the morning and face the day.

I still feel a little silly, like I thought he would wait for me all that time. I knew time on the open ocean would help clear my mind, so I called around town, found some merchants in need, gathered a crew, and set sail, this time for Australia. Skies are clear, oceans are calm, and there is a hint of opportunity in the wind.

Day 23 I didn't want to believe it. But there is definitely something in the ocean with us. I don't know what they are, and they're certainly not human. Mark saw them first, about a week ago and no one believed him. I called him delusional and sent him back to his quarters. But I saw them. Just now swimming alongside our vessel. Through the darkness, I couldn't quite make out what they looked like. Not at first, but through scrutiny, I was able to make out bodies that looked very human, yet they moved like fish. Pale and sickly, but the thing that concerned me was how big their heads were. Big balding heads, and it looked like they had massive jaws...

Day 24 I contemplated talking to Mark about them but he grew furious when I sent him to his quarters...I wasn't sure how to bring it up to him. I eventually will, but not right now. I'm certain there's something in these waters with us.

Day 25 Duran is drunk again. As he always is. He hit the bottle with ferocity this afternoon. I ordered Paz to keep an eye on him. The last thing we need is him falling overboard. Overboard with those things.

Day 26 Duran's gone missing. Paz said he was keeping an eye on him the entire time (I trust that he was), he looked away for one second and Duran was gone. He searched the area for him and found nothing. He said he couldn't quite see into the waters due to it being dark but he saw nothing. He said there was no sign that Duran even fell overboard. We searched every inch of this boat, over and over again, and found nothing.

Day 27 I told Mark about the creatures. He took it far better than I thought, agreed that he probably sounded insane, but was glad I believed him. I can tell he's worried. We agreed to keep it to ourselves. Paz and Kevin had been dealing with enough after Duran's disappearance.

Day 28 Paz and Kevin were on the deck when they encountered one of those things. Kevin said they saw it crawling up the side of the boat. It lept through the air and attacked Paz, tearing up his hands and arms beyond recognition. He'd lost a lot of blood, and it's a miracle that he's still alive. Kevin grabbed the rifle and fired eight rounds into it before it fled back into the waters.

We need to return to the mainland. Paz will not survive for more than a few days.

If that.

Day 29 Paz killed Kevin. I was in my quarters when I heard the blood-curdling scream from Kevin's quarters. Mark and I ran down the hall, and that's when we saw Paz. He'd turned into one of those things. His once dark skin, now pale, his body malnourished, his head enlarged. Those fangs. Those fangs with Kevin's flesh dangling from the tips. He had Kevin's head in his mouth, tearing away at his face.

We shot Paz. Five shots. Two to his torso, three to his head. The second shot removed his lower jaw, and he still moved as if nothing was wrong. The third shot removed everything from his forehead up.

We couldn't risk Kevin turning into one of those things. We locked both of their bodies in one of the closets. Using pieces of furniture to barricade the door.

Day 30 Paz and Kevin have escaped. More have joined them, I estimate that there are at least six of those things on board. They're so fast. So reckless. Climbing across the ceiling and along the walls. Mark and I managed to lock ourselves in the freezer, we adjusted the heat to where it's livable. There is some food for us. But just a little.

They're so loud. So damn loud. Their movements, their snarling, their growling. They are truly animalistic. We can hear them tearing through the boat, we can hear them bashing at the metal door.

Day 31 We saw both Kevin and Paz. Paz with the top of his head removed, his brains dripping out as he ran across the ceiling. We saw Kevin, most of his face completely gone. Somehow we could still recognize him.

Still some food, but not a lot. More and more sounds. The door won't hold for long.

Day 34 Mark is dead

Day 35 I locked myself in the engine room. I found my revolver. Bullets don't hurt them.

All I need is one round.

This door won't hold for long.

This will be my final entry. To whoever finds this, destroy this boat. Destroy whatever remains. We may appear to be dead, but we are not I assure you. Destroy the boat.

Do not bring these things to the mainland.

Destroy Everything.

Please forgive me, Lord.

Captain Ro

I think you’ll like this one. A child brought in this battered old logbook saying he’d found it on the beach near his home. Barely half of it is legible, but the lab techs claim everything on their end checks out, so the higher ups want you to take a look. I’d love some answers to one of the most famous mysteries in aviation as much as the next guy, but honestly, historians (you included!) have agreed for decades that if Captain Ro used an enchanted logbook, it was lost with the airship, so my money’s still on it being a fake. It’s a damn good one, though. Enjoy! -Levin

“…making good time. None of the other barrels were contaminated so we shouldn’t need to cut rations. There’s some rough weather on the horizon so I’m going to have the crew check and secure everything this afternoon. They’ll grumble, and the Skymage says it should only be a small squall, but there’s something about those clouds I just don’t like.”

“…storm was brief, as promised, but it left the ship covered in strange mites. They look rather like thundermites, but there was no lightning in that storm and they’re too small and the wrong color besides. You can almost see through them, and they catch the light in odd ways. Skymage Mar says that his spells slide right off them, and now the crew want to scrape them off by hand. We still haven’t gotten clear of the cloudbank, so that should keep their minds occupied in the…”

“…don’t come off cleanly. Half the ship is now covered in a slippery, foul-smelling slime. Some of the crew tried to scrub it off, but I ordered a halt when one cabin boy became violently ill. He’s already developing a fever. I’ve asked Skymage Mar to try some more mundane spells to clean the worst of it off, and hopefully we can prevent more exposure and illness. I’ve told the crew to resume their normal duties.”

“No one can find the ship’s cat. It’s too smart to have fallen overboard, and has its protection charm besides. But after nearly two days trapped in the fog of this accursed cloudbank, with everything that’s happened aboard since the squall, I’m having trouble keeping the crew calm.”

“The cabin boy is dead. And I’m afraid Skymage Mar may be responsible. First Mate Dena was going to check on the boy when Mar burst out in a frenzy and attacked her. She managed to subdue him, but he was knocked unconscious and the cabin boy was found to be dead. None of the crew knows for the moment, and I’m hoping to keep it that way until we get some answers. Everyone’s been behaving a bit oddly with all the mites and the remains of that noxious slime everywhere, so I don’t know if Mar was in his right mind or if this is his own version of the boy’s illness. We’ve done our best to immobilize him so he can’t do anything rash when he wakes, with his direct connection to the ship I don’t like to think what he could-“