Unique Monique
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Writing, Stories, Language, Words, Characters, Heartache, Belly ache.
Stories (2)
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The Barber's Pole
The Mayfair was as halcyon as the dulcet sounds she made. Navigating all her grandness onwards and outwards to New York. However, there could be heard a less melodic sound emanating from E-deck. A violent groan, from one Mr Cormac Martin. Throttling his body in his underwhelming bunk bed. He was a disturbed sleeper. He always seemed somewhat unhappy. As though something was missing. Only changing his expression when he seemed to be mocking an imaginary opponent in his sleep. As his nose twitched and his eyelids fluttered in R.E.M, a weak sort of gasping was also coming from outside cabin 44's porthole. Cormac had just begun to enjoy this tempestuous tirade involving belittling the galley maid's daughter. His nostrils flared and twitched tossing his head back and fro. His eyelids snapped open. His countenance was one of rage. Holding his breath he pawed for his pocket watch from his meagre bedside table. The top bunks did not offer such luxuries. The men had to keep their goods under their mattresses. Not I thought Cormac. Hardship was for the plebs. He always made sure to look after number one. As the watch face slipped he snatched for the leather fob. He still had the reflexes of a star-nosed mole and he was as shrewd as a fox but he was in no mood to bask in his superpowers. The time was 1420 and he began duty at 1600 hours. He felt the swell underneath him. Interrupted again by a series of three klee's - klee, klee, klee. Barely audible but enough to have interrupted his sleep. This bird call sounded raspier than it should be. He sat upright rubbing his face and clearing his trachea. He smoothed down his wiry hair managing to catch his fingernail. "Oh, you Bastard!" He shook his hand as if to shake away the pain. On investigation he had torn the nail off and was exposing a salmon coloured cuticle. He winced. Out his porthole, he could see, of all things, a kestrel. The kestrel was perched ominously on the handrails. A strange sight to behold. He thought about the logistics of that bird landing on this very ship. He smiled and turned back to undertake the task of dressing himself. Wearing his uniform made him feel the man that he really was. He had managed to cast aside his relatives years ago. They were as poor and stupid church mice. He had detested his family for as long as he could remember. Instead making a pact with himself to do whatever it took to get out of Greystones. When he was 15 his neighbour's cousin was visiting for the summer break. As they fished on the docks as a necessity rather than for recreation. The cousin divulged to Cormac how he was going to sit an entry exam in three days time at the Merchant college of Dublin to land a job in the navy. Callum - that young boy drowned the next day. Cause of death was drowning but it never made sense to his mum and dad because he was like a fish. A very experienced and strong swimmer. Cormac explained to the Mum and Dad that port is illusory and actually the current there is arduous and how he had done his best to warn Callum. But Callum didn't seem to want to listen. His parents were touched at this young boy's empathy. They made him a pole bearer and still write to him to him this day. The neighbour stopped playing with him but that didn't bother Cormac as he was outta there anyway. He passed the exams and began his internship that same year. Cormac realized he has them and Callum to thank for sitting those exams that summer. By the way, not everyone can pass those entry exams you know? They're not for simpletons. You have to be purrity smart, nodding his head. Cormac slipped his nightshirt over his head and admired his shoulders and then in a very orderly fashion he laid all of his night garb out onto his bed. He donned his fish tail woolen uniform pants. Put on his under shirt, cuffs, collar and tightened his braces. He kept his undergarments on. There was very little fresh water on board Titanic. Washing clothes was just not a thing. Although first class had the privelege of course of having their servants or stewards press and clean their attire. He slid his oxford shoes on and his double breasted coat came down, fastening his brass buttons. Last but not least, his favourite piece of uniform- his visor hat. Worn ever so proudly with the golden oak leaf. He secured his pocket watch to his vest. Picked up his tobaccy stash, pipe and his silver match tin. The only tangable memento to his father. To this day he never knew what became of him. People had their theories. The memory he had of him was his Daddy walking down the lane, away from their humble dwelling. Cormac smirked and said aloud "clever prick really."
By Unique Monique4 years ago in Humans
