Random Shipwrecked Ficcage
Jun. 7th, 2004 02:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsObligatory One Piece shipwreck thingy. Was going to be Ben and Shanks but I never finished more than this.
Word Count: 731
Rating: PG
He picked his way carefully over the cool, clinging sands. The beach was littered with debris from the wreck. Spikes of nail-studded wood, broken glass, and slimy, seawood coated ropes made an obstacle course out of the shoreline, his lack of shoes making him pay extra care to the placement of each foot. He cradled his left wrist against his chest, knowing that it needed attention but wanting to get away from the eager, relentless grasp of the ocean he had so recently escaped. As he walked, he occasionally paused, lifting his head from the vigilence of his path to scan about for any signs of life. Other than a lone, scuttling green crab the beach was deserted. The dark storm clouds still swirled overhead, and the lightly falling mist shrouded the features of the island in shades of blurry gray beyond a few hundred feet. Sound was muffled, too. The roaring of the waves that had been so deafening scant minutes ago was muted, reduced to a bare sighing in his water-laden ears.
The subtropical forest that blanketed the island neared, massive trunks and dense foliage limiting his vision even further. He ventured underneath the canopy, sinking down to sit on the loamy ground with an exhausted sigh. The ocean was still in sight, but within the shelter of the trees the falling mist was eliminated, replaced with the occasional fat drops of moisture collected from the storm. He leaned back against a reassuringly firm trunk, unmindful of the rough bark as it dug into his skin. All he really wanted at the moment was to sleep. Even though he'd only been fighting in the waves for a short while, the sheer violence of the storm and suction of the currents in the area had made for a life-or-death struggle. He was exhausted, wet, and in pain, and the wrist had to be set before he sleep.
Pulling his knees towards his chest, he gingerly moved his left arm, right hand supporting the left as it dangled at an unnatural angle. It hurt, and setting it would hurt even more, but it had to be done. As he examined it in the murky light, he was relieved to see the break was clean; his wrist snapped to the side by the line he'd had lashed to the mast. That had been the worst. When lightning had struck the mast, it was sent toppling in flames onto the deck, only to be swept almost instantly overboard by a massive wave. He hadn't had time to free himself before he was jerked over the side himself. A boot knife had been his savior, allowing him to saw desperately through the thick rope even as his body burned for air. The boots he had kicked off himself; steel-toed, they would only have dragged him down, even though he wished he had them now. He eyed the remains of the sodden rope, still knotted around his injury. That had to go before he could set it. The rope had been tight, by the time it dried, it would only grow tighter, too snug against the break. The boot knife was thrust through his waist band, and he drew it out. It was tricky getting the blade under the frayed remains, and trickier still attempting to saw his way through. Finally he steeled himself and yanked, a tiny yelp escaping his clenched teeth as his wrist jerked free.
The break throbbed now, beating with his pulse, and making his salt-filled stomach churn. He closed his eyes, leaning back against the tree as he willed away the pain and nausea. As the roiling in his gut eased, his eyes cracked back open. He scanned the area around him for a worthy-seeming piece of timber, wishing he had had the foresight to grab one from the beach. The wrist needed a splint for stability, and he really didn't want to get back up again. Finally he spied a suitable piece, just a few feet away under a ginkgo bush. Tiredly he pushed himself to his knees, shuffling awkwardly the short distance to the wood. He examined, relieved to find it strong and straight. It was a bit long for his purpose, but it would do. He made his way back over to his tree trunk, wondering how he was going to attack the splint to his arm.
Word Count: 731
Rating: PG
He picked his way carefully over the cool, clinging sands. The beach was littered with debris from the wreck. Spikes of nail-studded wood, broken glass, and slimy, seawood coated ropes made an obstacle course out of the shoreline, his lack of shoes making him pay extra care to the placement of each foot. He cradled his left wrist against his chest, knowing that it needed attention but wanting to get away from the eager, relentless grasp of the ocean he had so recently escaped. As he walked, he occasionally paused, lifting his head from the vigilence of his path to scan about for any signs of life. Other than a lone, scuttling green crab the beach was deserted. The dark storm clouds still swirled overhead, and the lightly falling mist shrouded the features of the island in shades of blurry gray beyond a few hundred feet. Sound was muffled, too. The roaring of the waves that had been so deafening scant minutes ago was muted, reduced to a bare sighing in his water-laden ears.
The subtropical forest that blanketed the island neared, massive trunks and dense foliage limiting his vision even further. He ventured underneath the canopy, sinking down to sit on the loamy ground with an exhausted sigh. The ocean was still in sight, but within the shelter of the trees the falling mist was eliminated, replaced with the occasional fat drops of moisture collected from the storm. He leaned back against a reassuringly firm trunk, unmindful of the rough bark as it dug into his skin. All he really wanted at the moment was to sleep. Even though he'd only been fighting in the waves for a short while, the sheer violence of the storm and suction of the currents in the area had made for a life-or-death struggle. He was exhausted, wet, and in pain, and the wrist had to be set before he sleep.
Pulling his knees towards his chest, he gingerly moved his left arm, right hand supporting the left as it dangled at an unnatural angle. It hurt, and setting it would hurt even more, but it had to be done. As he examined it in the murky light, he was relieved to see the break was clean; his wrist snapped to the side by the line he'd had lashed to the mast. That had been the worst. When lightning had struck the mast, it was sent toppling in flames onto the deck, only to be swept almost instantly overboard by a massive wave. He hadn't had time to free himself before he was jerked over the side himself. A boot knife had been his savior, allowing him to saw desperately through the thick rope even as his body burned for air. The boots he had kicked off himself; steel-toed, they would only have dragged him down, even though he wished he had them now. He eyed the remains of the sodden rope, still knotted around his injury. That had to go before he could set it. The rope had been tight, by the time it dried, it would only grow tighter, too snug against the break. The boot knife was thrust through his waist band, and he drew it out. It was tricky getting the blade under the frayed remains, and trickier still attempting to saw his way through. Finally he steeled himself and yanked, a tiny yelp escaping his clenched teeth as his wrist jerked free.
The break throbbed now, beating with his pulse, and making his salt-filled stomach churn. He closed his eyes, leaning back against the tree as he willed away the pain and nausea. As the roiling in his gut eased, his eyes cracked back open. He scanned the area around him for a worthy-seeming piece of timber, wishing he had had the foresight to grab one from the beach. The wrist needed a splint for stability, and he really didn't want to get back up again. Finally he spied a suitable piece, just a few feet away under a ginkgo bush. Tiredly he pushed himself to his knees, shuffling awkwardly the short distance to the wood. He examined, relieved to find it strong and straight. It was a bit long for his purpose, but it would do. He made his way back over to his tree trunk, wondering how he was going to attack the splint to his arm.
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Date: 2004-06-09 05:36 am (UTC)Slept.
It was a bit long for his purpose, but it would do. He made his way back over to his tree trunk, wondering how he was going to attack the splint to his arm.
attach the splint
(thought I'd give you a heads up on those.)
---
Very descriptive.
Looks promising. ^___^
-k.