Our first mixed up story is below. The categories chosen were: ALIENS and COLONIAL PERIOD
Please continue to add your suggestions for more story elements and genres to the list below.
- Cozy Mystery
- Young Adult Dystopian
- Free Verse
- High Fantasy
- Murder Whodunit
- Sci Fi
- Space Opera Serial
And now, without further ado.
November 29, 1650
I write these words here in my own private journal for the simple reason that no one will believe them if I say them out loud.
This island was not here last year.
I make and study the maps we have. That is my task and has been since I apprenticed to the trade of a navigator. Also, I have been to these shores before. Not only last year, but on three occasions before. This New World is not so new that it should rebuild itself, but apparently that is what I face.
I will pass over my objections to setting out so late in the year. No one asked my thoughts on the matter, so on their own heads be the cold and ice. Sadly, I am with them, so it is on my head (in the form of snow and sleet) as well. The worst part for me to endure is the crew’s constant astonishment and remarking on the cold. We are well north of the colony on Plymouth, so I honestly have no idea what they expected, and I know it to be true many of them were here not so long ago.
It is in man’s nature to be curious. I know and understand this, but sometimes I wonder if curiosity is how Providence punishes the reckless.
We had been skirting the shoreline for days, with the same view all the time. To port, the landscape was white and filled with barren trees covered in snow. An outcropping of homes — be they English, Dutch, or one of the native villages — would occasionally sprout up, preceded by towers of wood smoke. Off starboard was an unrelenting ocean which stayed dark grey all the way back to England as far as we could tell.
Yesterday morning we spotted the patch of green. Sleet fell steadily on our ship, and so to hear the lookout cry out “Green land ahead” made us, to a man, think the cold had gotten to the poor fellow. It was not long before we all stood on the decks with unbelieving eyes.
We sailed around the island which sat some four furlongs off shore from the mainland. As near as I can tell, it is a perfect circle rising in a dome above the sea. This alone was enough to make me desire to turn away from it. The Lord paints his islands in many shapes, but he uses a sort of geometry more elaborate than a table-maker.
Nightfall was not so far off. A boat was sent to land on the island. The men were there no more than a few minutes before returning. They spoke of heat which seemed to come from under their feet, and the grass they returned with is like none I have seen neither in this New World nor in England.
At the top of the dome sits a hut. I say that as though I have seen its like before. Good Captain Jones says he shall take more of us to the island at daybreak to see that hut. We sit now anchored off its shores and telling ourselves the low sound we hear is the ocean, no matter that we are men of the sea and have never heard water sound like that before. I am to be among those going to the hut, and I am much afeared.