STORYTIME
TAPESTRY
Special Treat ??“ Weekly Column By Trish
MacQueen
March 8,
2005
I am pleased to announce that every
Tuesday from now on we will have a very special
Treat from our writer Trish
MacQueen. I will be writing a
regular column for her newsletter as well.
Now to start you off, and I must tell you
as members of Storytime Tapestry you will have the privilege of reading her new
book as she writes it. Isn??™t that
just wonderful? Imagine that, and
Trish is sending it to us free of charge.
How much more spoiled can we get?
Here is Chapter 1, stayed tuned for the
next chapters each Tuesday.
The Pirate's Song
?© Trish MacQueen ??“
Feb. 25, 2005
It was late
evening when she turned the lights down and turned back
the covers.
She had never been on a sailing ship before, so her
stomach churned
and turned making her feel as though she should heave
her dinner
into the small stateroom's basin. As she peered into the
mirror,
bathed in moonlight, she could see a subtle tinge of green
darkening
her normally pale English features, and yet she still had to
inspect
the tiny lines that creased the corner of her eyelids showing
her
advancing years. She sighed suddenly and twisted away from
the
offending sight to stumble onto the bed. It heaved up and then
it
heaved down, as it rolled around in the storm. Why is it, she
asked
herself, that the first time I am forced to sail upon a vessel
of this
size, it has to find the most devilishly horrid storm this
century has
seen. Groaning, she closed her lids as her stomach
entered her throat
causing her to gag loudly and slap her hand
across her mouth, before
heisting her skirt and flying across the
floor to the lavatory.
Inside the basin, she threw up repeatedly
until her stomach felt
empty. The smell was putrid, she thought, and
then giggled aloud at
her own silly pun. Although it was now almost
morning, she was
finally beginning to feel almost human again.
Picking herself up from
the floor where she had sat in a muddled
heap for the past many hours,
she pealed off her soiled garment, to
replace it with a new, fresh
nightgown from her
trousseau.
Dressed and looking more her normal self, she
returned to her bed,
dead tired. She head barely touched down on the
lacy ruffled pillow,
supplied by an embarrass cabin boy, when her
eyes closed and she
drifted into a deep, deep
slumber.
The screeching of a fat Atlantic sea gull forced open
Delina's
eyelids, as she cautiously glanced around her, forgetting
where she
was. She often did this upon waking, but it seemed to be
getting
worse as she aged. Her sight landed upon the offending bird,
and she
reached down, grabbed her Sunday boot, and tossed it at the
critter's
head. The bird fled long before the shoe made contact with
the open
port. It was only then that Delina realized someone had
been in her
room and pulled the tattered blanket high upon her
shoulders. Who
could have been in here while she slept, she asked
herself silently.
Then it came to her, it must have been that
scrawny little cabin boy
who had opened the port window. Satisfied,
she rolled over and then
stopped dead, eyes as big as
saucers.
There sitting on a chair close to the door was a man
dressed all in
dark clothing. He had a long moustache that curled
slightly at the
ends, long dark ebony hair, and deep cutting hard
eyes. He was
watching her, taking inventory, with a slightly evil
look upon his
face. She shrank back from the expression and looked
around as if
there would be someone to help, but she was most
definitely alone.
She looked back at him defiantly, pulling the
blanket higher onto her
white shoulders, until the only thing
visible was her frightened eyes.
Trish
MacQueen
trishmacqueen @gmail.com
Please visit
my website:
http://www.trishmacqueen.theshoppe.com
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