Every day, twice a day, exactly twelve hours apart, the bobbin appeared. The human like head would bob up from the water always facing the same direction, looking out on the horizon. Nothing existed within eyesight. No ship’s sail broke against the blue. No silver sky bullets created new paths among the clouds. In fact, it was rare that even clouds marred the crystalline surface of the sky.
One day, a steel rod breached the edge of the sea. The bobbin’s lips curled upwards revealing a row of perfect teeth. The pupil-less eyes closed and a sound that denied definition burst from its throat. The rest of its well-muscled yet sexless body rose from the water. Its flat toe-less feet strode small steps across the surface of the water, defying gravity. It paused and lifted its arms towards the sky like a child waiting eagerly to be picked up. It stood sullen and still hour after hour as the rod slowly grew larger in the distance.
The steel rod became a ship, though the ship had no sails. It glided smoothly in circular motions over the water. Only its shadow disturbed the ocean beneath. It moved slowly, the small colored lights along its belly rotating as it spun. The bobbin’s arms dropped to its side and more bobbins rose from the sea, slowly emerging head first, one after the other, as sexless as the first, only the length of their hair giving any clue to their gender. Once the sea became nothing but bodies, the ship moved faster, enveloping them in a strange white-hot light. They shimmered and blinked out, disappearing quicker than they had appeared. Once the sea was empty, the ship moved to the shore. White light flashed and the bodies reappeared, no longer bobbins, but fully dressed like humans. Each one carried a weapon.
It was the beginning of the end.
July 31, 2013. A true account of the end of the world as seen from the edge of the pier by Janice Stephens, Reporter for the Daily News.
For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, k~ gave me this prompt: A woman in a dress is standing next to the edge of the pier on an overcast day. Why is she there?
I gave Diane this prompt: where the wind blows
This story was inspired by Ermilia’s Picture It and Write challenge. I wrote based on the picture used above.
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