The gales, black, like a dirt storm rather than wind, rip through me like I'm not even there; the billowing white cloud at my top tears on one side and ends wrapped around my mast. Trees wobble over onto me, upturned by their very roots, turning my planks to chips and my foodstuffs to mush. Something is not right here, not right by the way that the earth is screaming, tortured, being devoured. I come splintering apart like the child's toy that I was built to be, crafted by sure hands, but hands that didn't really know. There is something here, something that ought not be, and it's how I know that I'll never reach the water. A small puddle soaks me, gushing out the glass jar that is now no more than a few shards. I'm being decimated by the violent storm, now I resemble nothing but a scrap heap.
I'm no longer a raft—I'm wreckage.
Perhaps it was to befall me anyway?
0-FIN-0
Written for KH Drabble.
Honestly…I don't know if I like it. And why do I feel the need to write about inanimate objects? Wooden ones, at that, it seems. .…I won't write about the sword, I won't! *grumbles about her stupid muse and opens up a new Word page*
Fair warning, I got eaten by FF7. I don't know how much you'll see of me until I get out of it's bowels. Though, admittedly, I still think 8 was x10 better. *is promptly maimed*
Well then. See you around!