Prokhor Ozornin - On the Wings of Hope - Prose

But do wonder, do ask yourself even for an instant, whether you feel yourself easier from all this gathered cargo of your illusory knowledge, whether you feel yourself happier and more cheerful that once so long ago in a half-forgotten childhood … And if you don’t … maybe something is terribly wrong with that new picture of the world of yours?

Yes, they desired a better way. Indeed, they have themselves become victims in this system of formatting souls of humans. Truly, they had no idea what they were doing. Will you be able to break this vicious circle with your own life? And are you capable to create as a master your new - solar and bright - picture of the world?

27.08.2011

Azure smooth surface of a sea sparkled and shined under beams of a rising sun. Waves rolled over each other, foamed - and, having been picked up by a new stream, - were carried away. A fresh breeze was blowing - one that happens here day after another - one who have collected its tribute of moisture from a sea and was now desperately throwing it in the faces of men in a form of brilliant cold drops. A wind inflated sails and they, sagging before its force, were heeling the ship sideways. But - only slightly. Strong cables, adhering a vessel to a coast, didn’t desire to grant a wind even a slightest chance to shift this machine even for ten meters.

A captain’s shout ringed in the air - and sailors began to descend from ship’s masts to continue their duty on a deck. Soon this frigate will leave a port into its next sailing, but for now - there were shouts, carried downwind, noise of adjusted tackles, soft scratch of ship’s boards, which has been accepting a next portion of cargo onboard, and yet a wind’s whistle in a face.

A strange and unclear premonition was still making him feel uneasy: a melancholy of abandoned - even for a day or two, while new provisions were being bought and captain’s assistants were conducting brisk conversations with dealers, trying to lower prices for goods, - but still home, new home among boundless waters and storm … a joy of incoming adventure and some sort of strange presentiment, that the life he has been experiencing for now will very soon change, that his path will sharply be altered and he will be compelled to make a new important step in own life. Two weeks ago this sensation was born in him, three months ago he became a ship’s boy …

“If a man trusts himself - he can once achieve his dare dreams. Remember it well, sonny” - words of his father, which he, a simple tailor, gave him before son’s journey - into his new travel into boundless sea spaces, into a path that has been awaiting him since childhood and called for in magic dreams. A path that was going to change so soon, granting him a new choice.

A captain’s shout rings aloud once again in the air - and sailors start lifting sails. Their captain was an inborn leader - a bane of pirates of the Caribbean sea, he in his youth has made his name himself through dozens of brilliant attacks on pirate vessels. A remarkable strategist and even greater tactician, he has now become a sea trader - one of many. Yet the power has always been with him - even now it was swirling in that man, loudly appealing to his crew for the frigate’s departure from a port.

* * *

Raised and fluttering sails. A light breeze blowing in the face - soon it will change to the approaching squall and they will have to lower sails and start maneuvering downwind among rolling multimeter waves, so that storm cannot turn the ship sideways - even though a wind can change its direction more often that once in a minute. But all that will happen in fifteen or twenty minutes, when a storm will finally overtake them - and for now he was looking forward, on a boundless smooth water surface, opening before his eyes, and a sensation of the approaching of the time of a choice and changes, how he has agreed to call it for himself, were becoming only clearer and stronger.

More than once during these three months of his new life among open seas their ship has passed through the most dashing and desperate storms, which have been known to the Caribbean Sea in the last two years. And each time the captain and team pulled it out of the most, apparently, desperate situations - evaded from direct attacks of several buccaneer barques and from battles in private with titans - enemy frigates and even once with a galleon ship. For this is the way their captain was - free like a wind adventurer and bane of pirates, knowing no such word as a retreat.

* * *

Furiously the wind whistled and waves showered boards of the vessel, trying to break or tilt their frigate on one side, so that in a new impetuous pressure they can definitely finish off these pity daredevils, who have dared to struggle against mighty water elements.

The storm has been raging for almost an hour.

Waves have been beating on all boards of the vessel. The wind blew off from feet even those men slowly creeping on a deck of the ship, waves washed away into the storming sea and absorbed into its abyss crewmen, still shouting something in their last minutes.

This was one of the most terrible storms into which their vessel have got this year - or maybe these years. He knew not - he only saw how easily the sea finished with all those whom he has always considered as invincible … unbeaten until this dreadful day.

The new wave pours over him, trying to pull out a saving cable from hands - and yet another desperately floundering man is carried away, rolling on a deck with a scrap of rope in hands … a splash, which sound sinks in the noise of wind - and everything is over …

Waves, waves, waves. Wind, wind, wind.

A saving cable in hands - his unique link with this ship - and the only rescue.

Storm. A cruel wind, rushing about here and there.

The elements triumphed.

* * *

He didn’t know how much time has already passed. He knew nothing of the location of a ship. He cannot see other crewmen - only sea waves, whipping on the ship’s board, only a scratch of ship’s planks under water weights - and own immobilized hands, holding an iron rope.

Minute, two, three … Ten, twenty, thirty …

Slowly did time flow. Methodically did waves beat in the ship. Voices of crewmen have been silenced already - whistling of wind muffled all other sounds. The body cannot be felt, only the thought - lonely though-phrase, preventing him to immediately uncouple own hands and be washed off into the water, - “If a man trusts himself - he can once achieve his dare dreams” … To keep believing was the only thing he could do for now - to trust himself and remain courageous. And then he can survive. And then he should survive.

Consciousness ceased to serve him at times - and then strange dreams were seizing him …

He saw himself as an admiral of a huge squadron. He saw himself giving orders to captains of his ships during battles - and people with both boldness and readiness in their eyes going to execute these orders. People trusted him and were ready to offer their lives for him to live on, but he was ready to sacrifice his own for his people to survive - and fought himself on a front line - with pirates and robbers, who have filled these once peaceful spaces of recently unknown sea - in the sea and on the land, when they were starting to assault a sea port. He battled the enemy of his state as well - yet this was far less often.

He saw himself promoted to some rank, saw faces of court men inclined in respect and admired ones of his sailors-soldiers, when he was approaching them, openly bearing the award …

And then he saw his dark blue insensible hands and a floor of the vessel, being constantly poured by sea waves. Saw fixed on the ship and moved here and there iron rope, being grasped by his hands. And then despair overflowed him.