The Man Who Writes the Dreams: A book about following dreams by Pera Barrett

Author:Pera Barrett [Barrett, Pera]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction & Literature
Published: 2017-11-01T00:00:00+00:00

11 THE TERRAGULLS

“It’s nice to dream every now and then baby, but I don’t live in the fluffy cloud world of dreams, I live in the real life world of bills. Bills that don’t pay themselves.”

- Kelsey Roach, 46 years old.

————

Whoomph.

The dark shape in the sky dropped closer and closer to our little boat rocking in the ocean. I looked at The Old Man but he was staring out to sea unconcerned. The outline of a set of wings took shape. A bird then? It was huge. And it was coming straight at us.

Pointy clumps of panic started forming in my chest.

I held onto both sides of the boat. My muscles tensed, ready for the impact. This behemoth of a bird was about to crash straight into our boat, shattering it and probably us. That or it was going to splash-land in the patch of water to our side, and upend our little wooden teacup into the sea. Either way, we were going to get wet.

Instead, the monster landed beside us without so much as a ripple, and more importantly, without smashing our boat into splinters and smithereens.

The mammoth bird sat bobbing on the surface and glared at us with black smoke eyes. The whole beast was as wide as our rowboat and nearly as long. Out of the sun's path, its wings were white. It looked like a slightly off, grotesque, giant albatross. It could have been the grandfather ancestor to the modern day birds I’d seen on magazine pages in shops. It had the same dark stripe cutting from its eyes to the back of its head. The same massive wings that curved like a pair of arms puffed out and ready to fight as it landed. But it looked meaner.

Its beak was thicker than an Albatross’, still suited for snapping through fish and seal backbones, like secateurs snipping a stem. But it had a wicked hook at the end which looked perfect for ripping the flesh off an unsuspecting diver’s back. The feet it had just seconds before slipped into the water were still webbed, but I caught a glimpse of talons on their end that looked as vicious as the claws a giant eagle snatches sheep with.

I felt a wave of air being pushed, and another, identical, birdlike-thing landed on the other side of the boat with an equally calm splash.

The beasts looked at each other across the tops of our heads, turned their eyes to us, then both plunged their heads into the blue water at the same time, diving beneath our little boat.

I leaned over the edge and could see them crossing paths under the water, it was like watching fish in an aquarium, only, they weren’t fish, they were birds of horror with beaks that could take out a piece of our boat — the only barrier between us and the bottom of the sea.

They turned and came back towards the boat, crossing paths again.

Then turned back again.

And again.

And again.

By now, the birds were creating a vicious swell.

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