Wave after wave I sink and I float… every strike of lightning and roar of thunder frightens me. The ocean and the sky are at war, and the faint voice that told me to be still is slowly drowning.
I resign, accepting that I am facing my life’s end. That I’ll die alone with only the ocean and the dark sky as my witnesses.
A soft beam of light is coming from a ship with a torn black sail that’s fighting against the strong wind. I feel the pirate’s hook snatch me from the frantic waves. I hear the heavens roar.
The pirate examines me through a broken glass and throws me into a huge decaying treasure chest after he’s done. “Another useless, ugly, cracked pot,” he says.
My notion that a pirate’s chest would always hide the finest treasures on earth proves wrong, for the wooden chest in which I was thrown into is filled with what the pirate calls ‘trash’ – the wet and broken pots he found as he sailed.
Looking at each pot for me is like looking at a mirror…
Though we are there, together, we remain the loneliest beings on earth – the abandoned, the rejects, the forgotten.
The faulty cracked pots who ventured without any sense of direction.
The broken ones.
The pots that fell into the hands of thieves and pirates who knew nothing but to steal… to kill… to destroy.
“They do that to the rich and poor alike, and to us too. They stole our dreams… killed our hopes… destroyed our lives,” the pots tell me.
When a conversation starts about our Maker, it is always with spite. They regard Him as the Potter who has the hobby of creating pots and then forgetting them. They all wish they were never made.
I am very close to feeling the same way.
While the wind is still strong, the pirate meets a certain Sailor, brought forth by a humble boat.
The Sailor says he knew that the pirate has been hiding cracked and broken pots in his treasure chest, and that he wants to buy the pots.
“Are you sure, mister? With the looks of your ship, it seems you haven’t any money.” The pirate sniggers with a gulp of his liquor. “But because I have a good heart dear man, I’ll do you a favor and not sell those useless, ugly pots to you. I’m telling you, you would not find anything valuable to do with them.”
“No, I want them,” the Sailor says with the most dignified voice I have ever heard. “My Father wants them.”
The pirate eyes the Sailor with warily. “Who is your father?”
“The most skillful Potter, whose very hands created the pots you refuse to give to me, thief.”
“Ho! Thief? These cracked pots came willingly into my hands! Now, if the price is right, mister… If the price is right…” The pirate paces back and forth, seriously contemplating our fate.
“How much would the Son of the Potter pay for my ugly little collection, eh?”
“I’ll give my life in exchange for their freedom.”
The pirate laughs hysterically, as if he just heard the most ridiculous phrase in the world. “Fool! How would you bring these little darlings to your Father when you’re dead? What, your ghost will drive the ship for them?”
I hear the cracked pots laugh with him.
“I’ll ask you again, Potter’s Son. How much?”
Daily Prompt: Sad But True