Fiction · Level 3 · 140 words
Fog On The Crossing
Original passage © Studio AM, written for Fluency.
The crossing takes twenty-two minutes in clear weather and anything at all in fog. Captain Ruiz had learned not to trust her eyes on mornings like this one, when the harbor lights turned into soft grey stains and the far shore stopped existing.
She trusted the compass, the chart, and the count. Two hundred seconds on this heading, then a slow turn to port. Passengers hated the sound of the horn, but the horn was not for them; it was a question thrown into the white, and the answer, if one came, was another boat.
A new deckhand asked whether she was ever frightened. Ruiz said that fear was the wrong instrument. Fear made people steer toward whatever they could see, and on a morning like this one, what you could see was the least reliable thing on the water.
Source: Written for Fluency. Original passage © Studio AM, written for Fluency.