Prompt: In 300 words, write a scene or beat completely in concrete imagery.
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Lightning jumped down from the storming night sky and cracked along the side of the Antelope. The old sloop-of-war tilted leeward, threatening to dump the men down the deck over the scuppers and into the black, icy depths of the sea. Rain hit the deck violently with a split-splat sound as the crew struggled to secure the riggings, the rope pulled taught around the mooring mast, double wound in an attempt to keep hold. The younger boys scurried to close the gates over the lower deck access. A few of the older men hurriedly tried to roll the powder kegs into the Captain’s quarters, the old man himself up at the wheel, grasping it with all his might. His hands were low, down by his hips, yet he never lost his grip. The rain fell sideways–or had the ship almost capsized? Which was vertical, and which was steady?
The ship heaved leeward, and the men fell to the deck. Hail began to fall, pelting them. The sea was angry. Icy water swept over the deck before dropping out the scuppers. The men clung to whatever was in reach–nets, masts, cannons. The Captain braced himself and clutched the wheel, the sound of his laughter carrying over the sound of the storm. The ship settled with a tremendous whump. The men shook from their perches. The rain fell from the sky again, rather than from the windward side. The ship steadied on the angry waves.
The men were quick to resume their work. Powder keys still rolled across the deck—the older men nested them into the Captain’s quarters, before finally slamming the door shut and dropping the lock-plank. The lower-deck access were gated over, and the younger boys hurried to join the other crew sheltered down in the galley. The Captain never left the wheel, all through the storm, as though him and Neptune had some great debate that needed settled before the dawn.
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