Control
Are I Free when I’m in Control?
Or am I Free when I’m out of Control?
(11) Seafaring by nicholaiv
(11) Seafaring a short story by nicholaiv Atop an islet, a jagged tip of a submerged cluster of volcanic profusions thrust from the ocean floor, sits a man. Lines of salt have already begun to form on his dried and bare shoulders, which have darkened and reddened in the beleauguering light of a clear mid-afternoon. He looks onwards where enormous tankards and cargo ships with names of countries are minitiaturized and misted and grayed by distance, and the black unevenness of the horizon signaling land sits tauntingly beyond the still vessels. In adrenaline's calming afterglow, the whip of the waves and the warmth of the sun, which hangs in the sky like an angry eye, and the hallmarks of gray industry and man in the distance, hum with power. This little rock he's currently perched on seems a fated coincidence that saved his life in his 6 hour long international swim; as his strength was failing, it appeared; and for a moment he feels his journey is as monumental as the shifting
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