Eight Ball

It was a test I had to pass. A notorious thief is looking to form a crew to steal something from an art museum. Some rich spoiled brat wanted a priceless artifact to add to their collection. The downside is that the museum refused to sell it as the artifact is part of their collection, making it priceless. I was sent undercover, posing as a thief looking for my next job. My boss told me that my skills would be tested in a game of billiards, which made me smile. Time to channel my inner pool shark.

I showed up at the venue with my trusty pool cue, ready to take on whoever I played against. A brief look of shock appeared as I realized that I would be playing the person who would hire me. The atmosphere in the rooftop club soon went from smooth and mellow to nervous electric, with the sound of balls clacking and the murmur of intense concentration filling the air. My opponent and I were locked in a fierce battle, each taking turns sinking shots with precision and skill. Every move was met with a nod of respect or a muttered curse as we pushed ourselves to the limit.

As the game progressed, the tension in the room grew thicker, and the pressure seemed to hang heavy in the air. The crowd around us had grown in size, drawn in by the dramatic back-and-forth nature of our match. Every shot felt like a make-or-break moment, and the stakes seemed to rise with each passing minute. I felt like I had the game in the bag, but there was a cost for celebrating an early victory.

With the score deadlocked and only the eight ball remaining on the table, I could feel the weight of the moment settling on my shoulders. My heart pounded, and my palms were drenched in sweat. I took a deep breath, lined up my shot, and sunk the ball into the corner pocket with a resounding thud. The room exploded into a cacophony of cheers and applause as I revelled in the intoxicating taste of triumph. My soon-to-be employer was impressed and hired me on the spot. I smiled and thanked him as I reminisced my winning shot. It was a game that would forever be etched in my memory.

White Sails

Canvas of the purest white,

Filled by strong ocean winds.

Gliding upon the ocean,

Guided by the stars.

Built from the sturdiest wood,

To sail the Seven Seas.

A brave Captain commands it,

Along with a loyal crew.

Facing every obstacle,

That human or nature could throw.

Steering full speed ahead,

Toward that distant horizon.

Bermuda

The year was 1491. I was a famous world explorer set out to discover the unknown. My crew and I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, searching for mysterious lands to cultivate. As we sailed closer to the Americas, I saw that each of my crew members were all acting on edge. I mentally rolled my eyes at the scene before me, we’ve sailed many times before and came across dangerous situations that spelled death and managed to escape with our lives in tact.

One of the crew members came up to me as I stood at the starboard side of The Raven and spoke in a nervous voice, “I apologize fer interrupting yer thoughts, Ms. Renoir, but it seems that we have come to the edge of the Bermuda Triangle. The crew be wonderin’ if it is possible to turn the ship around.” As soon as the last word came out of his mouth, I turned my head to face him, my midnight blue eyes flared with annoyance.

I took a deep breath to calm myself before speaking in a cool tone, “Mr. Crow. I am on direct orders from Her Majesty the Queen to set out and explore the many lands that surround us and to claim it in the name of England. Now you are telling me to turn the ship around because your men are afraid of the Triangle? The Bermuda Triangle is nothing but a myth designed to instill fear into those who travel the seven seas. Pull yourselves together and full speed ahead!” Mr. Crow, not wanting to feel the full force of my wrath, turned and yelled, “Full speed ahead!” Little did I know that my stubborness is what will cost the lives of those on board.