It is the year 1492, and I am on the high seas with my unwavering crew, searching for the alternate water route to China. My crew and I hope against hope to beat the famed Christopher Columbus to this discovery.
It has been weeks straightway on the water, and just about of the men have become disapprove and disheartened. I can see fear in some of their eyes, and I can sense their longing for the smell of that sportsmanlike bread, olives, and provolone on the table at home. They sing the songs of our native prop and dream of returning.
I, I will not let myself bear faith in our goal. I will be trusted to press on and motivate the others to do so as well. We will not turn back until we have achieved success.
A fewer days pass, and I can feel a attack in the air. Now I can taste that same fear that I have observed in the others eyes. solely now, it is in my own throat, and I pray that we survive what lies ahead.
The stars atomic number 18 not visible on this night as they had been before, when they glistened and shone brighter than on any shore. The perch they bore, that in its limited brilliance could light the pages of my books, does night shine upon us anymore.
There are and clouds above us now. Silver linings....?
In the following days, the storm begins and intensifies with any minute. My ship, the Anima del Mare is tossed like a childs toy boat vagrant downstream. The men beg me to turn back, but I unaccompanied reassure them that the storm shall pass. I tell them that their fears are foolish. pocketable do they know that I feel the same fears as they...
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