GP Nomad: journey's end

Credit: GP Nomad

By The GP Nomad

I felt sick. Lying in my bunk, wooden planks strained and creaked around me, osmotically oozing as each crash of sea water thrusted my universe into a pendulous arc. The oceanic waves transmorphing through the timbers to nauseating waves through my body.

The alarm sounded. Crawling through the cabin, I opened the hatch to take my place on deck. A blast of fresh air and salt spray gave momentary relief. Pulling myself to standing, I clung, gripping the galley roof, as the boat bucked. Riding the Atlantic bronco. The crew nodded sympathetically. There’d be no help from me tonight.