Eye of The Storm

Paint n' Pen submission

Short Story, Quick Read
Dyslexia Font
Amor Budiyanto

Dec 03   ●  2 min read   ● 

Inspiration: Artwork by Haruko Furukawa
Artwork location, details and photo credit https://watchthisspace.org.nz/artwork/775

The sun settled as it drifted across the rusty, orange sky. His brown, metallic ship hovered
steadily as he observed the distance through his decrepit spyglass. Clouds meander
gracefully, the storm coming closer. Gently, he placed his spyglass back into his aged pocket.

He trudged towards the gantry onto the central body of the craft. His ragged cloak swayed.
While his ravaged scarf blew silently in the wind. An ancient phoenix stood beside the
entrance. Long, gloved fingers steadily reached down, stroking the beast as a memory
illuminated his mind.

A colossal egg laid in front of him. Cracks were starting to appear, getting wider by the
second. Slimy substance slowly spewed out, a new-born creature rising out of it.

Releasing his lengthy fingers from the bristly phoenix, he clears his disrupted mind to gain
back his concentration. Dullness filled the atmosphere. Entering the central body of the
airship, an archaic map lay on a rugged table. He viewed the map, determined to reach the
eye of the storm.

He continued to a dark room, the air felt heavy. Gears started to come alive as a light shone
from a vast furnace. Old documents filled the desk. A flask of green luminous liquid settled
on some leather framed books. He grasps the potion firmly while the furnace’s door opened.
Flames was blazing wildly. Carelessly he tossed the vial in, as the combustion devour it.

A damaged miniature chest radiated on the desk. He grabbed it. Holding the lustrous chest, he
opens it haltingly. Light brightly glistened from the box, blinding even through his dark
goggles. He walked out of the room, the chest at his long-stretched fingers. Ambling into the
gantry, he stopped standing beside the helm. Taking one last look at the oak chest, he let go,
dropping it into the dark abyss.

Lightning strikes, the bruised clouds poured aimlessly as the cold bitter wind darkened the
atmosphere. Life at risk, he steered the wheel, slowly starting to panic. He struggled, pain
beyond his worst nightmares. His body trembled, ached, collapsed as he blacked out.

The phoenix nudged him. He swiftly stood up, peering at the horizon. Semi-cloudless a green
light gleamed. He sunk his fingers into his pocket detecting a key. He grabbed the key and
rushed towards the phoenix. Releasing the phoenix, his mouth curved upwards, smiling. He
waved his hands as the phoenix sang gracefully. He shivered, the thought of him completing
his grandfather’s legacy was unreal.

He flicked the controls, as the engines triggered triumphantly. Proudly, he strode towards the
bleak main room, copper gears sealed the walls. A mechanical seat appeared. He sat on the
metal chair, as it turned facing a stained curved window. The ship rapidly shifting towards
the eye of the storm.


The Commuting Book Paint n’ Pen Creative Writing Programme is a collaboration between Christchurch City LibrariesThe School For Young WritersWatch This SpaceEvans Taylor Digital and supported by Christchurch City Council’s Enliven Places Projects Fund and Publica




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