Based off the painting: The Shipwreck by Claise-Joseph Vernet


Off into the distance, I hear the storm crackle frightening the sea. The roar off the waves is tremendous, overbearing the ship just in reach of land. The sharp treads of light are drawn to the ship. Blasting through its mighty sails. I cannot see it well, but I feel the storm is coming to us. If only we can get to the safe castle up ahead. We will be safe. My heart longs for the mothers, their children. I cannot bare it any longer.

I step towards the open door and turn. The ships tall towers go crashing down onto the harsh sand. Screaming blast through my ears. Are they hurt? I run down the stairs to my cabin and find my own children sitting there on the small cots. The worried questions ring through my ears. My husband sits there, worried himself. He gives a look and I know what he is trying to say. We must get off the ship. I pack everyone a suitcase in fear, not wanting the storm to hit. Praying that no one, know in the name of God gets hurt. I sit with my boys on the bed. I tell them pray boys. Pray with what you know.

Before they even get the chance to say Amen, the world stops; I stop. But the storm carries on with its powerful blows. I feel the wind gusting towards us. The yells above on the deck shoot through my ears. I tell the boys to run. I take their suitcases. My husband takes his. I look past the waves. So close to shore! Can we hang in a bit longer? I hope, oh I hope. I cling to my family. I see the others from the last ship waiting on the beach. Watching us, some running to help. Others stay back in fear of losing something dear to them again.

The captain hands us life jackets. I do not know how to swim, neither do my boys! How will this work? My husband cannot carry us all. He will drown for sure! We must jump! We have too! I quickly zip the jackets onto myself and the boys, holding the hands of my loved ones. We dive into the cold water. Who knows what lurks below us? I see smaller boats waiting to carry us to the safety of the shore. I throw the suitcases into one of the small boats. The kind people lift my boys and family. Are we safe yet? I shiver as I watch others bob around in their jackets. Those who cannot swim begin to be pulled under by the current. Cries of help and sadness overtake the sound of the storm.

I feel the boat scrape the sturdy sand. Others who have all ready made it struggle to pull us out of the ocean. I launch myself onto the beach, crawling away from the dreadful sea. A tear burns my eye, slipping over the thin corner of the lid. I feel it roll down my cheek, leaving a trail of fear through the sand covering my hollow face. A cry escapes my mouth. I see it happen, but want to look away. My boys look at me. One of their last images. I run to the shallow waters in which they lay, pleading for help. Begging God to let them stay with us. The ocean water makes its way through them. Tearing them apart from the inside. They call my name. I hold them in my arms, cradling them until their last shred of life goes out.