Ficlets

Battleship

Their noses were crumbling off. Features in stone don’t keep well over a hundred or so years. The massive ship was frozen in its forward motion, perpetually trying to push ahead. The men’s limbs were overgrown with moss and weeds, the deck pushed up from beneath their feet by pinion trees.

But their time was almost done. Just a few more moments.

A great noise filled the valley, a snapping of wood and stone. Rock breathed in a collective gasp, sucking in the dusty air they’d been denied for so long. Plants withdrew themselves from what would soon be flesh again. A tree grew into the mast, replacing the one that had deteriorated into sand and pebbles ages ago.

“Stations!” boomed a voice. The captain wiped the dirt from his face, spitting out a small rock. A clump of grass still stuck to his beard, and he appeared too excited to notice and remove it.

With a last thunderous crack, the ship pulled free of the mountain that had held it for so long. It plowed through the earth, the crew laughing all the while.

View this story's 3 comments.