Roz's+Short+Story

The //Wanderlust// gleamed, golden, in a distorted sunrise only the sea could produce. It, or “she” as Sebastian insisted a call the ship, was beautiful. Not only in her the rich mahogany deck’s waxed surface or even the polished golden door knobs, the //Wanderlust// was beautiful in everything she stood for. She stood for freedom, adventure and most of all she stood for a new life. She was wonder in herself. Sebastian had painted, in large golden letters, //The Wanderlust// on the starboard side of the ship, and the letters were now reflecting the pink sunlight. I had warned him that it was too dangerous, adding identification to the ship, but he did so anyway. He said it was important. That we had to have pride. The sea was calm, and it seemed almost unfair. There should have been, I thought to myself, some drama in our departure. There was no dramatic chase, no dramatic music, and now that we were gone, no dramatic sigh of relief that we had made it out alive. If Sebastian had heard me say this he would have been furious. Didn’t I want it smoothly, he would ask, didn’t I want to get out without making a fuss? Braust was just a black dot of smoke on the horizon. It would barely be worth mentioning in a description of the sea line, a painter would not have bothered to put it in this landscape. But, I dwelled on it, that dot of smoke. I spent my entire life living there, in the smog and industrialized streets. I heard the old women in the streets talk about days of old. They said things like “it used to be better then”, and “things haven’t been the same since”. One such voice was Mrs. Beulah Ainsley, Braust’s “village witch” and best cabbage and cod soup maker. She spoke out frequently about the New Regime and how the old king had been better. She spoke of murder and torture. She spoke of forced confessions dictator rule. One day, Mrs. Ainsley disappeared without a word. I had always entertained ideas of leaving Braust, and finding somewhere better to live. Her disapearence made up my mind for me. Mrs. Ainsley had fed me, clothed me, and taken care of me since I can remember. I didn’t official live with her, adopting children in Braust was a long and drawn out process, and Mrs. Ainsley took care to see that I was never brought to the attention of the Braust Public Service Bureau. Braust’s Public Service Bureau struck fear in the hearts of every freethinking citizen. It was ran by ominous Loyalists, and they made sure The Code was followed, using any form of persuasion necessary. They took Mrs. Ainsley. And they took my parents. According to Mrs. Ainsley, my parents had been famous revolutionaries, fighting off the Bureau for many years. When it finally caught up with them, I was left with no home and no security. I barely remember that time, when my parents were taken, but I do remember the fear and the secrecy that I lived in growing up. Ideas, the Bureau said, ran in families, and anyone who spoke out put their families and themselves in great danger. I was hardly a toddler when I was put on the Most Wanted list. Mrs. Ainsley changed my identity, refusing to even tell me my old name, and took me under her wing. Life with Mrs. Ainsley was filled with stories, and hot soup, and the bustle of the back alleyways and poor neighborhoods. I enjoyed a warm breakfast, then went out to run errands and play in the streets. I would come home to Mrs. Ainsley’s dusty little hovel around noon and have some lunch. Then I was free to go where I pleased until supper time. In the evening, I would help Mrs. Ainsley pass out medicine to the poorest citizens of Braust and feed the hungry. At night, Mrs. Ainsley would tell me fantastical stories of anything that struck her fancy. As I got older these stories became more serious. She taught me of the horrors of the New Regime, and to never comply to their standards, for to do so would be to become subhuman. Now Mrs. Ainsley was gone. Gone, gone, gone the word echoed in my head. Reality had thrown its harsh knife. I had come home for lunch with Mrs. Ainsley that one horrible day, and was greeted with an empty house, ridden with signs of a hasten search. I stood stunned in the doorway while my brain registered what had happened, then took off. I ran through the crowded streets of Braust. Carts, horses, merchants, and beggars all streamed threw my peripheral vision, but I paid them no attention. Suddenly I was jolted backward, flung on to the cobbled street. I looked up, into the face of Fate itself. Then Fate spoke, it said it was sorry, and hello, its name was Sebastian. And so I met Sebastian Finn, of the prestigious Finn household, rich Loyalists who threw lavish parties. My first reaction, of course, was to run away. It was just my luck I thought, when I try to run away from the Loyalists, I run into one. He grabbed my arm as I turned and told me to wait, and he began talking to me. Shocked, I listened. As it turned out, Sebastian was running away too. Of course he had been smarter, and was headed for the docks, not the town center. He proclaimed himself and artist, and said to find true art he must flee the walls of this suppressive city. If you looked up Romanticism in the dictionary (one of few books not banned in Braust), Sebastian Finn would be the definition. Sebastian Finn was the answer to all my hopes and dreams. He was the means through which I was to leave the city. His parents owned a huge marina and certainly wouldn’t notice a ship missing within the next few weeks. By then we would be far out to sea. I was still skeptical as to whether I could trust Sebastian, or if I even wanted to travel with someone so well known. His eagerness convinced me, and we made rash plans. We were going to commandeer a ship, and head towards the horizon. We left that night, after knowing each other for one day. He presented his key to a guard at the marina, telling a well crafted lie about his reason for wanting to get on to a ship so late. I snuck in behind him, and we walked through the Marina until we found the right ship. We waited for the over weight guard to fall asleep, then Sebastian brought out his paint can. I told him not too, but against my best judgment, he still painted the golden words. It was almost dawn when we finally set sail, and the day was creeping up to those first fragile hours of the morning. We pulled towards the horizon, and the wind was in our favor. “Well,” Sebastian said with a slight tremor in his voice, “here we go.”