brightstorm
The wind tore the old propeller, off. Next to the dusty helm, the caption blew apart. Above the sail, wised around in the storm. Below them the deck, cracked. Under the crooked deck the beds was wet. Across from the wooden helm the people was going crazy. Next to the helm, the anchor was swinging around like a yoyo. Next to the old wooden helm, was rusty hull what was smashed and dented.
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