Short Story (Quite Short)

Misled overfed tired of bed Harry the Harpooner puts on his buckskin and painted mask and sallies outside. Never knowing more than an empty horizon and a beer at bedtime he works on loosening the knot that is hampering the sails. Titans are out in force today and gales grip pinch divot the wave matter. Orange peels float across the stern bow but never counterclockwise. Harry fends off fatigue under the noontime shade of an uprooted banana tree and sings ditties to his cable man Rick the Stick. Counter to popular belief, Rick was not a child genius, he merely had a natural ability to gesture like a retired Swede. Baldness came with evening and the two were ready to quit their diet when a loud crash was heard port side. Rivulets ringed rosy wine stains through woodgrain clothes. Totem poles toppled and the sun cut itself in half. Panic would have overtaken them if there were not stars in the sky. Their compass blade beseeched them for a new scrivener to buccaneer with. Scabbard or no, it was a long day.