Serial# : QC2583
The visibility at the bay was low. The sun was yet to rise, but its presence was felt in the distance. The cold air and fog drifted atop the still grey waters. And it was but the whisper of the northern winds —still too early in the year for their arrival — that lulled the angler through his serene and patient repose.
He had been out at sea since early morning. His small skiff had seen better days, as had he. Time had stricken them both equally as harsh; in no way softened by the depression leading the factories out of town, leaving its residents to pick up the pieces as they could. Still, he went out to the bay early every morning and sat in his weathered skiff for hours before sunrise, if only hoping. The catch was scarce, but when they bit, it made for a couple of days.
That morning he hadn't found any luck. The main spots for school activity seemed to be desolate, so he chose to venture further out. He turned the propellers back on and with his old trembling hands at the helm, he moved forth. The old engine's rheumatic clank got muffled by the fog, which by now encompassed the vessel entire. The navigation light at the bow started to flicker just before it turned off. He walked towards, a couple of stern taps usually did the trick. After the first smack the beam shone again, and as it did, it revealed in its trajectory the silhouette of another boat. In a moment's notice, the incoming ship was out of the shadows, presenting a collision. He ran back to the helm to try and avoid it, but too late. Impact brought his boat to a halt.
He hastily and nervously turned off the power and ran back to the front to inspect the damage. It wasn't grave, luck may have it, it didn't puncture. He called out to the other boat, but no answer came back. The naval quietude that had been of comfort before, now had become eerie and grim. The other boat was just there, inmobile, anchored, dismal. But apart from the bump and scratch on its glimmering aluminum hull, oddly, it seemed to be in perfect condition.
The angler stood for a moment, then called out a second time "Anybody hurt? Do you need help?" Once again, it was only the northern winds that spoke back. He felt a shiver running down his trodden spine. Clearly something wasn't right, and so he prepared himself to board the vessel.
To be continued.
O.a.k (One-of-a-kind):
This line of instruments acts as my space for study and unbounded creativity. It is the continuation of my original non-serialized work, meaning, a cymbal line where anything goes.
It will most likely also act as the breeding grounds for any forthcoming new lines and designs as time moves forward, so keep your eyes open, one of these could one day become a regular act.
…SCROLL DOWN FOR IN-DEPTH VIDEO SAMPLE…
Serial# : QC2583
The visibility at the bay was low. The sun was yet to rise, but its presence was felt in the distance. The cold air and fog drifted atop the still grey waters. And it was but the whisper of the northern winds —still too early in the year for their arrival — that lulled the angler through his serene and patient repose.
He had been out at sea since early morning. His small skiff had seen better days, as had he. Time had stricken them both equally as harsh; in no way softened by the depression leading the factories out of town, leaving its residents to pick up the pieces as they could. Still, he went out to the bay early every morning and sat in his weathered skiff for hours before sunrise, if only hoping. The catch was scarce, but when they bit, it made for a couple of days.
That morning he hadn't found any luck. The main spots for school activity seemed to be desolate, so he chose to venture further out. He turned the propellers back on and with his old trembling hands at the helm, he moved forth. The old engine's rheumatic clank got muffled by the fog, which by now encompassed the vessel entire. The navigation light at the bow started to flicker just before it turned off. He walked towards, a couple of stern taps usually did the trick. After the first smack the beam shone again, and as it did, it revealed in its trajectory the silhouette of another boat. In a moment's notice, the incoming ship was out of the shadows, presenting a collision. He ran back to the helm to try and avoid it, but too late. Impact brought his boat to a halt.
He hastily and nervously turned off the power and ran back to the front to inspect the damage. It wasn't grave, luck may have it, it didn't puncture. He called out to the other boat, but no answer came back. The naval quietude that had been of comfort before, now had become eerie and grim. The other boat was just there, inmobile, anchored, dismal. But apart from the bump and scratch on its glimmering aluminum hull, oddly, it seemed to be in perfect condition.
The angler stood for a moment, then called out a second time "Anybody hurt? Do you need help?" Once again, it was only the northern winds that spoke back. He felt a shiver running down his trodden spine. Clearly something wasn't right, and so he prepared himself to board the vessel.
To be continued.
O.a.k (One-of-a-kind):
This line of instruments acts as my space for study and unbounded creativity. It is the continuation of my original non-serialized work, meaning, a cymbal line where anything goes.
It will most likely also act as the breeding grounds for any forthcoming new lines and designs as time moves forward, so keep your eyes open, one of these could one day become a regular act.
…SCROLL DOWN FOR IN-DEPTH VIDEO SAMPLE…
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