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Cyun

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Breaking news: Tributes to 28 presumed drowned.

28 people are thought to have been drowned after a ship sunk in a storm off the western coast of the Outer Hebrides of Scotland last Wednesday.

Tributes have been paid to the victims and their families earlier today, and a statue is planned to be built by the council upon the western island of Creag de Òran.

Coastguards carried out a major search after numerous distress signals were sent out in a powerful storm that hit the North Western coast for several hours. None of the crew, passengers or the ship has been found. The RNLI and coastguard carried out an extensive air and sea search for more than eight hours following the incident at about 11:50pm BST on Wednesday night.

It was later reported that on the ship were 9 female singers, travelling south to Belfast for the Denworth Music Festival scheduled for this weekend. The festival has reported to have been cancelled due to the recent catastrophic events.

“Tragic”

Matthew Walter (27) shedding tears, a good friend of one of the singers, Pisino* Holmes (29), states "Nothing any of us can say could ever adequately express our feelings for the tragic victims of this appalling incident, but our thoughts is with them and their families.”

A husband of a talented member of the group of singers, Aglaope Wood (31), Murdoch Wood (32) pronounced amid heartache: "Two days ago my beloved wife and mother of our three year old son, Douglas, was lost at sea and [is] presumed drowned.”

In a statement, the family of Robert McDough, the Captain of “The Charon” that sunk, exclaimed he was “loved and respected by many people.”

The Maritime and Coastguard Agency declared: “The search was stood down yesterday evening. We continued broadcasting to other vessels and shipping in the area to keep a look out but that has now also stopped.”

18-Oct-2013 16:25:44 - Last edited on 18-Oct-2013 16:59:33 by Cyun

Cyun

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Chapter One

The quaint and unassuming village of Little Bryske sat rather squatty upon a steep slant, rising up towards the rock-strewn bluff that slumped into the spattering sea. It, like most villages out in the boonies, was wholly sequestered and had an air of pastoral intolerance. The statically resolute inhabitants played in the likewise unchanged tradition of being simply that, unchanged. There, away from the hubbub of inner-city life, where those ‘hooligans’ whizz this way and that on motorcycles, and the stern office workers ponging of coffee walk briskly jabbering on their new-fangled Samsung 4GMXs in solicitor jargon. It was the rural idyll, yet not blemished upon by the holiday-makers hollowing out the cottages on weekdays, due to the undesirable weather. Though there were signs of modern life; the occasional satellite dish and a new land rover scattered about.

In the village there was a Post Office, a pub, a small bank and a few shops. Hilly bountiful lands, carpeted in highland heather and thistle, swelled around the stony Little Bryske and past it, stopping at the ridges of the cliff, hanging a verdant fringe over the tumbled forehead of the drop. Finally, north of all by a mile, painted in the picturesque red and white, and bulging podgy in the middle with age, stood a lonely lighthouse.

It was the very same lighthouse that Douglas Wood was walking up to from his parked car, raincoat hood flapping as a gull in the Hebrides winds. He glanced back at his girlfriend, who was a few feet behind him squinting in the chilling drizzle whipping into her rosy cheeks. He took her under his arm and pulled his hood up. “We won’t stay long.” Douglas said in a muffled voice under his scarf, squeezing her around the shoulder.

18-Oct-2013 16:25:52 - Last edited on 18-Oct-2013 17:36:56 by Cyun

Cyun

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“It’s not that, you know I understand that you need to see him every once in a while.”

“Then what’s up?”

“It’s just…” she looked up at him with her gorgeous chestnut eyes. “I get upset when he talks to me.” Douglas sighed, staring up towards the nearing door.

“I know how you mean. I think he has got gradually worse, especially recently.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with your mother?” She said quickly, as if she was avoiding saying the word that might hurt him. “I mean it was fifteen years ago.”

“No.* Douglas replied flatly, and let go of Fiona.

Douglas knocked thrice upon the weather-beaten door loudly, and waited a minute before his father could be heard fumbling about from within.

“Is that you, Dougie?” a voice sounded.

“Yes it is me, Dad. I’m here with Fiona, let us in.” The door swung open revealing a stout man, slightly past his prime. He had fuzzy brown hair, flicked with silver specks that reminded them of his creeping age, like a glistening trout slinking through a murky river. His hoary nebulous eyes were vacant from his soul, as a wax model of himself, which left no warmth or intellect for his visitors.

“Come in, please.” He said softly, ogling them raptly. He meticulously stared at Fiona, and Douglas felt her shiver beside him, be it the cold or his wide pupils, probably the latter. They followed him into the dank room. Douglas turned on the light, as the windows were translucently grimy and the room appeared shadowed.

“Dreadful weather, I’ve forgotten how bad it is up here.”

“Yes.” Murdoch said distantly, sidling to the kitchen to put on the kettle, as if out of tradition more than anything else. The couple went through to the musty living room and sat down at a small table. Douglas’s chair was coated in a thick layer of dust, and he swept it to the floor, skimming a look to Fiona, before sitting down.

“How’ve you been Dad?”

“Oh, I’ve been better. My petunias have wilted.” He called over the boiling of water.

18-Oct-2013 16:26:00 - Last edited on 18-Oct-2013 17:38:11 by Cyun

Cyun

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Douglas repressed a guffaw. Fiona exhibited a perturbed expression. The kettle receded, and Murdoch pootled in the living room.

“You don’t have sugar do you, Dougie?” Douglas shook his head. “And you, Aglaope?” A painful moment thickened the air, and seemed to halt time for a brief period, before Fiona shook her head.

“Dad… This is Fiona, my girlfriend.”

“I know that, boy, I’m not stupid!” He snapped acerbically, leaping from his faraway quietude. Suddenly his face paled like milk and his eyes looked watery. His stance dropped as if a cat*s heckles would after a fight. “I hope you like PG tips.” And he disappeared back into the kitchen again as if he had never had an outburst. Douglas reached over to Fiona and held his hand over hers.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” He whispered. A clang and a racket resounded on the shiny laminate, and Douglas jumped up to see a broken teapot in a puddle of steaming tea upon the floor.

“Are you hurt Dad?”

“No, no, I’m fine. I loved that teapot, it was Aggie's you know.” He looked solemnly towards the mosaic porcelain.

“Come on Dad, go sit down, I’ll make the tea.”

“I’ve come to talk about what will happen in the future with you” Douglas said slowly, after tea. “As you know, Lewy Body Dementia gets increasingly worse with time, so we need to make sure you make all of the decisions now, before you are… unfit to make them.”

“You mean you did*’t just come to see me?” Murdoch quizzed.

“Of course, Dad; I also want you to get what you would prefer in the future, things like whether you’d want to be put in a care home.”

“I know a lovely little place in Aberystwyth, where I grew up—” Fiona started.

*I don’t want to be shunned into a wee sh*t-hole.” He blurted out. Fiona flinched and ebbed from confidence in the discussion.

18-Oct-2013 16:26:08 - Last edited on 18-Oct-2013 17:39:47 by Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

“Dad* Don’t be like that; we want what’s best for you.”

“I know what’s best for me! Those stinking places are full of old beggars.” He exclaimed. This, was true at least, thought Douglas. Murdoch was only forty-seven, but the Dementia was a type that could develop anytime, rather than just in old age. He would only be out of place by sight, however. The dismaying truth was that mentally he was unfit.

“There are alternatives. We could sell the lighthouse and get a nice little Bungalow near me, so you can call on me or Fiona anytime.”

“I don’t want to sell her; I thought you were taking over lighthouse duty from me.”

“I have my Editor Job, and Fiona and I live in Glasgow, remember?”

“She’s been passed on for generations! My father gave her to me, and his father before that!” Douglas scratched his head and rubbed his temples slowly. “As well as that, I don’t want to move from the village.”

“Why not?*

*I want to be near Creag de Òran, near her statue.” He looked across like a petulant child.

“I’m sorry Dad, but you’ll have to move.”

“Why?” Murdoch reddened in the face, and spit flung across the table. “Why do I have to move?”

“We can’t give sufficient care out here, it is a long drive. What if you fall down the stairs and I can’t get to you?”

“I don’t want to…”

“You must!”

“I don’t want to leave her.”

“She’s been dead for fifteen years Dad!” Silence turned the atmosphere frosty and callous. The wind outside had died completely. Great, swelling tears, born from his ghostly, hollow grey eyes, ran down Murdoch’s cheek, until finally plopping onto the oak table top. “Dad* Douglas said tenderly “Dad, I’m sorry.” His father did*’t look him in the face, but just sat, appearing all of a sudden old and icy. His bottom lip trembled awfully, and then he got up gently, and walked away to his room. His bedroom door faintly clicked shut.

18-Oct-2013 16:27:37 - Last edited on 18-Oct-2013 17:40:53 by Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Chapter Two

They both left the following morning. Murdoch hadn’t left his room, except for a brief breakfast. Fiona was upset and did*’t want to leave him. Douglas, on the other hand, said he needed to go to London for a meeting. When they left, Douglas gave his father an engulfing long hug, while his father cried silently into his arm. Fiona stood awkwardly blubbering near the car.

“You want to stop overnight somewhere?” Fiona asked, somewhere on the motorway near Birmingham. Douglas’s head was lolling, and his bloodshot eyes drooped. He stared straight through the windscreen, spotted in dancing spasmodic rain, blazed with headlights. They were soundless for the entire journey up until this point.

“What time is it?”

“Half six” She replied “Come on; let’s pull over at a Travelodge.”

They got out their stuff and paid the spotty teenager at a dodgy place called ‘Sweet Dreams’, then followed him to a shabby room. It had a lumpy single bed. Douglas slept on the floor. He heard Fiona weep before he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

“Wake up!” Fiona shook him and prodded him in his chest. It was pitch black still. Douglas turned and banged his head on the drawer. “It’s Mrs Hugh from your Dad’s village — she says he has been out at night by the cliffs, singing!” Douglas scrambled up, his grogginess dissolving, sweeping away like a cloud in a whorl of fear. “He’s shivering and won’t go in she said.” He grabbed some clothes and pulled them on, Fiona doing the same.

“No, you stay.”

“What?”

“Take the car in the morning and drive home, I’ll take the train— it will be faster.” Douglas said, fetching his wallet.

“Are you sure?”

“Please, get back to bed.” He brushed her slim body to his and pecked her supple lips, before flying out the door and into the car park. Fiona watched him from the little window, disappearing from the glaring glow of the streetlights, then into the darkness.

18-Oct-2013 16:27:45 - Last edited on 18-Oct-2013 17:42:03 by Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Chapter Three

Douglas sprinted through the muted Little Bryske. The only sound was the mellow wind and the distant noise of the Bakery a way away. He looked at his watch, 6:57am. Up, past the Post Office, and following the path parallel to the sea he went. The waves were oddly diminutive, and produced unuttered splashing, created only from the usual background din expected from Douglas’s hysteric mind. A crazed conflict, the peacefulness against the feverish worry and discomfort within, generating a more profound sense of anxiety.

The archaic lighthouse grew nearer. Abruptly, Douglas noticed an alien warbling, sounding from a dark silhouette of a figure, plastered against the orange tide near the crags. It was Murdoch.

“Dad!* Douglas yelled, over his distressed singing. Though he did not turn to face the land, but stare expectantly over to the remote island ahead. “Dad!* Douglas ran up to him, clutching his shoulders, as if to wake someone from a deep sleep. “Please, Dad.” Murdoch crumpled to the floor, as if broken from an aquatic spell from afar. Mrs Hugh came waddling around the corner.

“Oh thank goodness, thanks for coming bless. I’ve been keeping watch on him but he won’t go indoors.” Her saggy face gave a pitiful glance towards Murdoch’s limp body.

“It’s fine now, Mrs Hugh, I’ll look after him.”

“Aye, I’ll be on my way then. You’re a good laddie.*

Douglas picked up his slumbering body, and carried him up through the doors of the lighthouse, slumping him in his bed. He pulled the covers over his still body. Douglas wiped the beads of exhaustion from his strained brow. He sent a quick text to Fiona, telling that everything was fine. Everything wasn’t. He’d have to miss the meeting and stay overnight to keep him safe. He needed sleep.

18-Oct-2013 16:27:54 - Last edited on 18-Oct-2013 17:42:43 by Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Although this time there were additional beds in the spare rooms, comfy and free of lumps, he decided to sleep by his father, upon the firm floor again. The gulls started to call, and his father to snore. Douglas’s consciousness wandered into the land of vacancy.

He woke, stretching his neck and arms. His back ached, as if mimicking the stiffness of the wood beneath him. A great yawn, then he reached for his phone. He hadn’t received a text message back.

“Bloody signal.” He scratched his tired scalp. “Be better off with a siren.” He turned over, glimpsing at the mound of quilt beside him. “Come on Dad, get up now. I swear you frighten me on purpose.” Douglas put his clothes on again. “Dad, get up.” He shook his head, and removed the grit from his eyes. “Dad, get up!” he pulled the covers from the bed revealing a bare sheet beneath. “Dad?” His heart began to beat savagely. He pushed through rooms, knocking furniture aside and shoving doors against the walls. “Dad, where are you?” He began to panic. “No, no, no. Please Dad.” He looked out from the living room window, out towards the tranquil sea.
There. His father, there. He was climbing down the rocks! “Dad!* Douglas hollered, crashing out of the doorway and outside, dashing up to the edge of the cliffs. Murdoch had tumbled down, hurting his ankle, but still he would not turn back, and answer his son. Douglas scrambled after him, bloodying his hand on the slated rock, and shredding back his nails in the steep slope. *Stop! Dad!” His father walked across the pebbly sand of the beach. He stopped at the approaching wave for a moment, gazing out towards Creag de Òran.

He walked into the tide.

“No, please! Listen to me!” The seawater crept up towards Murdoch’s neck, and he began to swim out into the sparkling vastness. He took out his mobile phone, jamming in 999 in. No signal. “Goddamnit.” He lobbed the phone into the squelching sand.

18-Oct-2013 16:28:02 - Last edited on 18-Oct-2013 17:43:28 by Cyun

Cyun

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Douglas made a U-turn on the beach, and went and fetched the little fishing boat, strapped to a post yards away. He untied it with clammy, dead fingers. His heart was thrusting from his ribs. Calm. Calm down. He breathed slowly, and pushed the boat across the sand, and into the bitingly frozen water. He leapt into the boat, and started to row after the bobbing head of his father.

The striking song vibrated the very heart of the old sailor, its divine melody piercing his ears and burning his fears. Murdoch swiftly cut through the licking soothing waters, lapping silently to the sides of his face, bent up and transfixed as if in religious awe. Halcyon unearthly sounds, similar to that of Aglaope’s lulled him on, free from the shackles of lethargy. It is her. She has come back to me.

“Sweet Aggie, I’m coming.” He cried, swallowing salty water. What utter beauty, what cataclysmic alluring did that sound pour into Murdoch’s ears, like warm honey, drowning bitterness in oozing love. The island grew closer. The small rocky bulge in the blue bloomed swaying flowers in the kissing sun. The statue came into view. It was surrounded by eight others. Her statue! He could tell which one, a stripped woman, singing. No, Aglaope singing. Oh how she croons. It wakes the whales of the deep and unearths the wings of the butterfly in a man’s chest.

“Aglaope! My love!” Murdoch choked, his muscles on fire and slowing, but naught of this reached his enchanted and warped mind. The statues transformed, the mossy stone fleshing into peachy softness of curvaceous women, impeccably beautiful in any glance. Openly denuded upon the rocks was Aglaope, her bust settling upon the jagged rocks. Her once concrete strips, metamorphosing into sleek black hair, alive and frenzied, dripping wet over her body and down into the caressing waves. She continued to sing, acknowledging her husband with a glint of her bulbous eyes.

18-Oct-2013 16:30:13 - Last edited on 18-Oct-2013 17:44:38 by Cyun

Cyun

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She was ravishingly stunning, yet devilish and terrible with her glinting pointed face. Murdoch’s legs had now grown stiff, and his head slipped under the water briefly. His lungs had collapsed, and his face flopped like a fish in the water.

“Agle—” He gurgled, he was drowning. Aglaope slinked from the rocks and seeped into the sea. She held his clawing hand. He was sinking. She hugged him underneath the blue. The voice continued, hollowed in the depths. Her beauty, purest of all the things in the world, embraced him in her arms, her bare body pale and her eyes slicing into Murdoch’s dull leaded brain. She greeted him at the lips, and continued, biting into his mouth, taking his tongue. A cloud of blood percolated, weeping into the aquamarine. She dug deeper with her sharp teeth, tearing his hard skin, gnawing at his chest, and eating, gorging, crunching, slashing, laying waste to his flesh. They both sunk down into the deep.

18-Oct-2013 16:30:22 - Last edited on 18-Oct-2013 17:45:09 by Cyun

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