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15minuteficlets today, and saw the word, and lo and behold, this Indy ficlet popped into my head. It's kind of random, but I had fun with it, so yeah.
Wow, this being sick thing really kills my ability to write thoughtful coherent sentences.
Word: Quest
Title: Out for a Midnight Swim
Fandom: Indiana Jones
Word Count: 335
He comes up for air a hundred yards away, reaches the surface and floats there, gasping, for only a moment before the searchlights sweep too near him and he's forced to go under again. This time, as he swims, he finds the rhythm of it, hears the harmony of his muscles, loves the way they surge and flex against the water. The thrumming of the motorboats still grumbles through the water, but it's more distant now, focused on the place he entered the sea.
Chancing another rise to the air, he turns and treads water, watches the activity along the shore. "Here!" someone yells, and he knows they've found his hat and his holster, the former lost unintentionally, the second shed before entering the water in the interests of minimizing resistance.
"Circle the boats," blasts another shout. This voice echoes across the waves, skims the whitecaps before dissipating into the infinite darkness of the night. "He'll have to come up sooner or later; no one can stay under that long."
He smiles—that's his cue to leave—and begins a leisurely crawl that will take him several miles downshore, to a place where he can pull himself up a short rocky beach and then wade up the river to retrieve his things. Well, thing. Because he can always find another gun, but he'll be damned if they're going to get away with his hat.
Just to reassure himself, he pats the heavy golden chain that rests, solid and warm, against his chest. On one loop of it is hooked a key, the key described in the text which outlines the shape of the temple which sits upon something of unbelievable historical significance. Something that his father is researching right now, something that could change humanity forever.
He can almost hear his dad's voice—Hurry along, Junior, it's not as if we've got until the Second Coming, you know—and he hastens his kick, the rotation of his arms.
Hold on, Dad. I'm on my way.
15minuteficlets today, and saw the word, and lo and behold, this Indy ficlet popped into my head. It's kind of random, but I had fun with it, so yeah.Wow, this being sick thing really kills my ability to write thoughtful coherent sentences.
Word: Quest
Title: Out for a Midnight Swim
Fandom: Indiana Jones
Word Count: 335
He comes up for air a hundred yards away, reaches the surface and floats there, gasping, for only a moment before the searchlights sweep too near him and he's forced to go under again. This time, as he swims, he finds the rhythm of it, hears the harmony of his muscles, loves the way they surge and flex against the water. The thrumming of the motorboats still grumbles through the water, but it's more distant now, focused on the place he entered the sea.
Chancing another rise to the air, he turns and treads water, watches the activity along the shore. "Here!" someone yells, and he knows they've found his hat and his holster, the former lost unintentionally, the second shed before entering the water in the interests of minimizing resistance.
"Circle the boats," blasts another shout. This voice echoes across the waves, skims the whitecaps before dissipating into the infinite darkness of the night. "He'll have to come up sooner or later; no one can stay under that long."
He smiles—that's his cue to leave—and begins a leisurely crawl that will take him several miles downshore, to a place where he can pull himself up a short rocky beach and then wade up the river to retrieve his things. Well, thing. Because he can always find another gun, but he'll be damned if they're going to get away with his hat.
Just to reassure himself, he pats the heavy golden chain that rests, solid and warm, against his chest. On one loop of it is hooked a key, the key described in the text which outlines the shape of the temple which sits upon something of unbelievable historical significance. Something that his father is researching right now, something that could change humanity forever.
He can almost hear his dad's voice—Hurry along, Junior, it's not as if we've got until the Second Coming, you know—and he hastens his kick, the rotation of his arms.
Hold on, Dad. I'm on my way.
