Misty Sway (WW July Prompt 03)
Title: Misty Sway
Author: Alaylith
Rating: G
Characters: Watson, Holmes
Summary: Watson feels like he is on a ship surrounded by mist. (July Prompt 3)
WordCount: 203
Prompt: July 3 ~~~
The Hospital Ship
by W. H. Littlejohn
There is a green-lit hospital ship,
Green, with a crimson cross,
Lazily swaying there in the bay,
Lazily bearing my friend away,
Leaving me dull-sensed loss.
Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,
Numb is my heart, but you carelessly dip
There in the drift of the bay.
There is a green-lit hospital ship,
Dim as the distance grows,
Speedily steaming out of the bay,
Speedily bearing my friend away
Into the orange-rose.
Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,
Dim are my eyes, but you heedlessly slip
Out of their sight from the bay.
There was a green-lit hospital ship,
Green, with a blood-red cross,
Lazily swaying there in the bay,
But it went out with the light of the day -
Out where the white seas toss.
Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,
Cold are my hands and trembling my lip:
Did you make home from the bay?
Author's Note: As a personal challenge I am going to try to write all July prompts as one big story or at least try to connect them loosely. As such this one here is a prequel to A nightly storm, but can be read on it's own.I hope the next prompts will allow me to manage this. :)
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The world sways beyond his reach; all he can see is a grey mist. A steady pounding resonates inside his head and the blood rushes through his ears.
It reminds him of his return from Afghanistan; of those horrible days spent on a ship returning to England.
He was then just as numb as now, but the mist surrounding him back then was a sickly green not grey.
The white seas were harsh and brutal, the waves loudly rocking the ship. He can almost hear them now, but as he concentrates another sound penetrates the mist.
It is a voice, pleading and gentle - nothing like the cold and brutal waves.
He follows the voice like a moth to the flame and slowly he realizes that this is not the sway of a hospital ship, but the sway of an embrace holding him to a bony chest.
There is no spray of water on his face, but the thickly essence of life - colored like the reddest sunset.
And as he finally opens his eyes he recognizes the grey mist as the deep and fearful eyes of his dearest friend, those bony hands cold on his skin and a slight tremble to those lips.
“Watson?”
Author: Alaylith
Rating: G
Characters: Watson, Holmes
Summary: Watson feels like he is on a ship surrounded by mist. (July Prompt 3)
WordCount: 203
Prompt: July 3 ~~~
The Hospital Ship
by W. H. Littlejohn
There is a green-lit hospital ship,
Green, with a crimson cross,
Lazily swaying there in the bay,
Lazily bearing my friend away,
Leaving me dull-sensed loss.
Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,
Numb is my heart, but you carelessly dip
There in the drift of the bay.
There is a green-lit hospital ship,
Dim as the distance grows,
Speedily steaming out of the bay,
Speedily bearing my friend away
Into the orange-rose.
Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,
Dim are my eyes, but you heedlessly slip
Out of their sight from the bay.
There was a green-lit hospital ship,
Green, with a blood-red cross,
Lazily swaying there in the bay,
But it went out with the light of the day -
Out where the white seas toss.
Green-lit, red-lit hospital ship,
Cold are my hands and trembling my lip:
Did you make home from the bay?
Author's Note: As a personal challenge I am going to try to write all July prompts as one big story or at least try to connect them loosely. As such this one here is a prequel to A nightly storm, but can be read on it's own.I hope the next prompts will allow me to manage this. :)
--------------------------------------------------------------------
The world sways beyond his reach; all he can see is a grey mist. A steady pounding resonates inside his head and the blood rushes through his ears.
It reminds him of his return from Afghanistan; of those horrible days spent on a ship returning to England.
He was then just as numb as now, but the mist surrounding him back then was a sickly green not grey.
The white seas were harsh and brutal, the waves loudly rocking the ship. He can almost hear them now, but as he concentrates another sound penetrates the mist.
It is a voice, pleading and gentle - nothing like the cold and brutal waves.
He follows the voice like a moth to the flame and slowly he realizes that this is not the sway of a hospital ship, but the sway of an embrace holding him to a bony chest.
There is no spray of water on his face, but the thickly essence of life - colored like the reddest sunset.
And as he finally opens his eyes he recognizes the grey mist as the deep and fearful eyes of his dearest friend, those bony hands cold on his skin and a slight tremble to those lips.
“Watson?”