Open Starter // Outside the S.S. Leander
Death was the only possibility. Despite what people might assume James considered himself an optimist, if only because he knew expecting the worst was the same as asking for it. When problems arose he imagined the best outcome and strived for it-- often achieving something at least close to what he had envisioned. But there was optimism and then there was idealism, the impractical and impossible. To fall from such a height would kill most people with the rocks and waves below presumably killing whoever survived. So when he awoke to the sounds of waves he thought that must be what was happening, but his cheek was pressed firmly against sand and a breeze blew through his curls.
He could walk-- like a baby deer sure, his feet sinking in the loose sand but he managed to make his way to a visage he saw in the distance. At first he thought it was a limestone stack, but as he got closer he realized it was a ship. James walked right up to it, pressing his hand against it. His hand felt along the splintered wood and rough barnacles, left thinking only why? His hand still pressed against the ship, he looked over his shoulder just in time to see a figure approaching.
James turned, rolling his shoulders back to look more presentable. Though his clothes and shoes were soaked and now that he thought about it he probably had seaweed and shells in his hair. Maybe even a crab or two. God what was going on? But he wasn’t ready to admit how lost he was, how vulnerable he was. So instead he called to the figure, his voice hoarse, “what is the name of this ship?” He cleared his throat, then spoke again, though his voice was softer. “Does it even have a name?”















