The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story / poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide.
To read more about this challenge, click Sunday Photo Fiction.
“So pirates really used these canons?” Pete yelled, pretending to fire at an enemy vessel. “Wild! Bam! Bam! Bam!”
“Wild,” he agreed, bracing himself with a hand on the curved bulwark, other touching first the canon’s pitted chamber, then the rough hemp of breech rope.
“Confusion mostly,” he added in his teacher’s voice. “Cloying smoke. Thunder shots. Heat. Splinters. Shouts. Canting desk.” More than hot really, more like hell.
“What was it like?”
“Fighting? Horrible. Just as much chance of dying from your own canons as the enemies.” Ghosts tamped canon shot. Shouts. Smoke. Screams. Blood. Firing at just the right moment. Or, as was often, just the wrong moment, shot short or wide.
Bored, Pete scampered away. The sound of the rest of the class echoed from above deck.
His eyes met those of the Gun Captain’s, those of each man on the crew. For a moment, time didn’t matter. As one, he and the Captain raised their hands in acknowledge then he was walking away, calling for Pete to slow down.