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Weatherby Swann knew his death was approaching. Every fiber of him cried out in agony. If only he'd never consented to take this position as governor in some benighted backwater. It had seemed so reasonable at the time.
It was a tragedy that Elizabeth would be orphaned so young, and no kindly, firm hand to guide her through the years ahead.
He leaned forward, heaving the meager contents of his already-emptied gut over the side of the ship.
A single day out of Portsmouth. If only the ship would stop moving. If only he could stand on solid ground again.
December 18 2006, 15:27:33 UTC 5 years ago
January 1 2007, 07:14:46 UTC 5 years ago
Thanks for letting me know you found it amusing.
December 18 2006, 16:38:39 UTC 5 years ago
January 1 2007, 07:15:26 UTC 5 years ago
January 6 2007, 23:54:02 UTC 5 years ago