Writer's Campaign Challenge #3

As part of Rachael Harrie's Platform-Building Campaign we've been given a third challenge:

Write a blog post in 300 words or less, excluding the title. The post can be in any format, whether flash fiction, non-fiction, humorous blog musings, poem, etc. The blog post should show:

• that it’s morning, 

• that a man or a woman (or both) is at the beach

• that the MC (main character) is bored

• that something stinks behind where he/she is sitting

• that something surprising happens.

Just for fun, see if you can involve all five senses AND include these random words: "synbatec," "wastopaneer," and "tacise."   (NB. these words are completely made up and are not intended to have any meaning other than the one you give them).

SAVED

I watch Nathan’s lips move as he prattles on about the new world, but all I can see beyond the rusted bow of the ship is water, black as coal in the night.

A rush of air chills my skin, and I fake a yawn, in hopes that he’ll excuse himself. He does. Thank God.

When I stand to leave, I hear a bang and the clatter of splintering wood. The boards shake beneath my feet.

“Pirates!” someone shouts.

Another bang. This time I fall. I scream as I tumble over the edge, but nobody hears me. I hit the water with force, then nothing.

***

I wake to the taste of salty lips on mine as breath is forced into my lungs. I cough and choke up water, digging my fingers into the wet sand when I catch sight of the half-naked man above me.

“Synbatec,” he whispers.

I freeze.

“Where am I?”

Source

The rising sun has stained the sky with pink, and I see no sign of the ship. I try to take deep breaths, but the smell of festering seaweed invades my nose.

He points to the jungle behind us.

“What?” I ask.

“Wastopaneer el tacise. Tu et Synbatec.” I can see every muscle flex beneath his coconut skin as he gestures with nervous eyes.

He beckons for me to follow him. My heart skips with hesitation, but I take his hand.

We walk in silence.

Without warning, a soundless arrow pierces my chest, and I cry out as sharp pain tears through me.

He catches me before I fall. I’m as good as dead. He grips the arrow, and I expect him to pull it out. Instead, the arrow disappears. The wound disappears. The pain is gone.

I stare at him. He smiles. We run.

If you liked my story, you can give it a thumbs up here. I'm #70.