Stranded
Writing prompt from Writing Excuses – Season 01 Episode 24 – Research
Write a scene in which a character is performing an activity about which you know nothing. Go to wikipedia, read up on that activity and write the scene.
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James tried very hard not to think about the fact that a five hundred foot drop would probably kill him.
The improbability of falling didn’t matter to him. He couldn’t care less about the assurances he’d been given when strapping on the harness. His palms were sweaty and his fingers were locked in a death grip around the rope.
Most people yell and whoop when the canopy fills and they’re lifted off their feet by the invisible force of the wind. Not James. He’d been petrified.
He’d closed his eyes at first, lids so tight that not even a sliver of light got through. Instead of helping, though, this only heightened the feeling of dizziness and nausea so he opened his eyes a smidge.
The line had uncoiled so fast that in the space of a few seconds he was already more than a hundred feet behind the boat, the wind had shot him backwards as the small vessel left him behind, rising and rising.
James’ bile was rising as well. The wind whipped around him as he swung in a bobbing arc at the end of the line. The rope was attached to the harness he sat on and it tugged at him insistently in the opposite direction from the two straps that connected to the large canopy overhead. The sheer openness of the space that surrounded him, everything looking so small, churned his stomach and he was glad he’d skipped breakfast.
He couldn’t look down. He must have been hundreds of feet high at that point and still rising. He tried looking at the horizon but the queasiness got worse. He focused instead on the knot in front of him. He didn’t look at the tiny boat that kept getting smaller, he didn’t see the long arc of rope that was his lifeline to it. He just saw his white knuckled grip right below the knot.
Is that a frayed piece of cord? He saw with alarm the loose strand that uncurled from the tight weave that wound around a metal ring that his harness was clamped to. Even through the rushing wind he could hear ominous sounding creaks from it. He couldn’t control anything, he was at the wind’s mercy.
With a sudden jerk the rope reached its full length and his head whiplashed, making him spew up some stomach acid. The battle between the two forces pulling at him, the rope and the canopy, became more intense. He could feel himself bobbing in the middle and a cold brick of fear settled into his stomach.
The rope is going to break. He was sure of it. It’s going to give in at any moment and I’m going to be swept away out to sea.
He became acutely aware of the tension on the straps that connected him to the canopy, then. They were also straining against some flimsy looking metal rings. He could count the threads on the stitching that kept it in place. If one of those snaps…
James knew that the brochure had said that five hundred feet was the maximum height that could be reached when towed on an eight hundred foot line, but he was certain that he’d surpassed that number. Logic was displaced by the ever rising fear of hanging there, above the waves. If he was disconnected from the canopy he would fall to the water, but from that height it would kill him. The Golden Gate Bridge was less than half as high as he was at the moment, and people killed themselves there all the time.
He cursed himself for being so stupid. He had been intimidated by Natasha, and hadn’t wanted to seem like a coward. Maybe she would visit his grave when he died.
It wasn’t getting any better. He thought that another strand had slipped free from the knot below his hands. If he had to choose, he would rather die immediately than slowly drown in the open sea if the rope broke and he was swept away. The canopy would let him survive, probably, but he’d be miles from shore before he landed, and it would likely fall on him, entangle him and drag him down.
He’d drown if he was lucky; he’d read that shark attacks were few and far between in the Caribbean, but statistics were of no comfort. I’ll probably be eaten alive as I try to escape the nylon-covered prison made from the canopy.
He dared a nauseating look below him. The promises that he would always be above the clear blue water of the idyllic island shore were as meaningless as he’d feared. The boat was surrounded by the crystal blue waves but the long stretch of rope that curved lazily towards James crossed over the threshold of the open sea and a stygian blackness loomed beneath him.
James was sure that if he fell, he’d be dead before he hit the water. Panic gripped him and his limbs stiffened with apprehension as he envisioned the blackish, roiling waves rushing towards him. His knuckles cracked around the rope.
Another lurching motion and he was falling.
It wasn’t the breakneck speed he’d expected from the canopy folding, or the frantic dash from the rope snapping. He fell in a slow arch as he saw the rope coil loosely in the water. The people on the boat were pointing at him and waving as the captain steered towards him but James didn’t –couldn’t – respond.
He was frozen stiff with fear. He couldn’t breathe. Tears filled his eyes as he kept falling towards the dark waves.
They said they wouldn’t do a touch-n’-go… He thought feebly. He heard himself mewling incoherently. He barely noticed the boat speeding away from him again.
When he was a couple of dozen feet above the horribly dark water, trying in vain to raise his legs to delay the inevitable bracing splash, he was yanked forward again, the rope tied to his chest pulling him along like a child pulls a kite. His left foot danced across the waves and he screamed as he raised it, the chill of if spreading up his spine.
In the time it took for him to draw breath again, he was rising above the waves, a puppet on a string.
Never again… He thought as he felt himself being reeled in like a fish. The tears had dried on his cheeks, and it took all of his effort to wipe the grimace he felt was frozen on his face. The distance between his feet and the deck of the boat shortened at an agonizing pace. He tried hard not to bite his cheek and forced a tight grin as he drew ever closer to safety.
When they disconnected the harness from around his waist and he stepped shakily over to where Natasha sat he was reminded of why he’d gone through with it.
Her wild, dark hair framed her beautiful face as her smile beamed up at him. His fear turned to butterflies, flapping inside him as he met her eyes and saw the joy and elation in them as she leapt up and hugged him. The touch of her skin was electric and took his breath away as she leaned in to speak into his ear.
“You see? It was not so bad!” Her heavily accented, husky voice sent a shiver up his spine as he felt her breath on his neck. “Can we go waterskiing when we get back?”
Gazing out towards the dark water where the water skiers dashed madly behind speedboats, he had to force another smile.
“Sure… Why not?”
Write a scene in which a character is performing an activity about which you know nothing. Go to wikipedia, read up on that activity and write the scene.
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James tried very hard not to think about the fact that a five hundred foot drop would probably kill him.
The improbability of falling didn’t matter to him. He couldn’t care less about the assurances he’d been given when strapping on the harness. His palms were sweaty and his fingers were locked in a death grip around the rope.
Most people yell and whoop when the canopy fills and they’re lifted off their feet by the invisible force of the wind. Not James. He’d been petrified.
He’d closed his eyes at first, lids so tight that not even a sliver of light got through. Instead of helping, though, this only heightened the feeling of dizziness and nausea so he opened his eyes a smidge.
The line had uncoiled so fast that in the space of a few seconds he was already more than a hundred feet behind the boat, the wind had shot him backwards as the small vessel left him behind, rising and rising.
James’ bile was rising as well. The wind whipped around him as he swung in a bobbing arc at the end of the line. The rope was attached to the harness he sat on and it tugged at him insistently in the opposite direction from the two straps that connected to the large canopy overhead. The sheer openness of the space that surrounded him, everything looking so small, churned his stomach and he was glad he’d skipped breakfast.
He couldn’t look down. He must have been hundreds of feet high at that point and still rising. He tried looking at the horizon but the queasiness got worse. He focused instead on the knot in front of him. He didn’t look at the tiny boat that kept getting smaller, he didn’t see the long arc of rope that was his lifeline to it. He just saw his white knuckled grip right below the knot.
Is that a frayed piece of cord? He saw with alarm the loose strand that uncurled from the tight weave that wound around a metal ring that his harness was clamped to. Even through the rushing wind he could hear ominous sounding creaks from it. He couldn’t control anything, he was at the wind’s mercy.
With a sudden jerk the rope reached its full length and his head whiplashed, making him spew up some stomach acid. The battle between the two forces pulling at him, the rope and the canopy, became more intense. He could feel himself bobbing in the middle and a cold brick of fear settled into his stomach.
The rope is going to break. He was sure of it. It’s going to give in at any moment and I’m going to be swept away out to sea.
He became acutely aware of the tension on the straps that connected him to the canopy, then. They were also straining against some flimsy looking metal rings. He could count the threads on the stitching that kept it in place. If one of those snaps…
James knew that the brochure had said that five hundred feet was the maximum height that could be reached when towed on an eight hundred foot line, but he was certain that he’d surpassed that number. Logic was displaced by the ever rising fear of hanging there, above the waves. If he was disconnected from the canopy he would fall to the water, but from that height it would kill him. The Golden Gate Bridge was less than half as high as he was at the moment, and people killed themselves there all the time.
He cursed himself for being so stupid. He had been intimidated by Natasha, and hadn’t wanted to seem like a coward. Maybe she would visit his grave when he died.
It wasn’t getting any better. He thought that another strand had slipped free from the knot below his hands. If he had to choose, he would rather die immediately than slowly drown in the open sea if the rope broke and he was swept away. The canopy would let him survive, probably, but he’d be miles from shore before he landed, and it would likely fall on him, entangle him and drag him down.
He’d drown if he was lucky; he’d read that shark attacks were few and far between in the Caribbean, but statistics were of no comfort. I’ll probably be eaten alive as I try to escape the nylon-covered prison made from the canopy.
He dared a nauseating look below him. The promises that he would always be above the clear blue water of the idyllic island shore were as meaningless as he’d feared. The boat was surrounded by the crystal blue waves but the long stretch of rope that curved lazily towards James crossed over the threshold of the open sea and a stygian blackness loomed beneath him.
James was sure that if he fell, he’d be dead before he hit the water. Panic gripped him and his limbs stiffened with apprehension as he envisioned the blackish, roiling waves rushing towards him. His knuckles cracked around the rope.
Another lurching motion and he was falling.
It wasn’t the breakneck speed he’d expected from the canopy folding, or the frantic dash from the rope snapping. He fell in a slow arch as he saw the rope coil loosely in the water. The people on the boat were pointing at him and waving as the captain steered towards him but James didn’t –couldn’t – respond.
He was frozen stiff with fear. He couldn’t breathe. Tears filled his eyes as he kept falling towards the dark waves.
They said they wouldn’t do a touch-n’-go… He thought feebly. He heard himself mewling incoherently. He barely noticed the boat speeding away from him again.
When he was a couple of dozen feet above the horribly dark water, trying in vain to raise his legs to delay the inevitable bracing splash, he was yanked forward again, the rope tied to his chest pulling him along like a child pulls a kite. His left foot danced across the waves and he screamed as he raised it, the chill of if spreading up his spine.
In the time it took for him to draw breath again, he was rising above the waves, a puppet on a string.
Never again… He thought as he felt himself being reeled in like a fish. The tears had dried on his cheeks, and it took all of his effort to wipe the grimace he felt was frozen on his face. The distance between his feet and the deck of the boat shortened at an agonizing pace. He tried hard not to bite his cheek and forced a tight grin as he drew ever closer to safety.
When they disconnected the harness from around his waist and he stepped shakily over to where Natasha sat he was reminded of why he’d gone through with it.
Her wild, dark hair framed her beautiful face as her smile beamed up at him. His fear turned to butterflies, flapping inside him as he met her eyes and saw the joy and elation in them as she leapt up and hugged him. The touch of her skin was electric and took his breath away as she leaned in to speak into his ear.
“You see? It was not so bad!” Her heavily accented, husky voice sent a shiver up his spine as he felt her breath on his neck. “Can we go waterskiing when we get back?”
Gazing out towards the dark water where the water skiers dashed madly behind speedboats, he had to force another smile.
“Sure… Why not?”