Lines smacked the mast, tolling a hollow rhythm. Damsel’s sails strained to turn the wind to our advantage, guided by my father’s callused hand. I watched him, clutching my worn blue bear in the cabin below. I knew if I blinked, he’d vanish. Damsel rode a building wave, foaming white like teeth. The sea curled to claim her, but she broke through its bite, ascending as the ocean dropped away. For one timeless moment, she flew. We crashed into the cold Atlantic; spray spat across the deck in retort. My father, still manning the tiller, hollered back into the gale.
Ollie DeVoid is an author from Florida’s southern swamps. They also make art, and games, and still sail when they can. www.olliedevoid.com Bluesky @midnight-scrivener.bsky.social.