The Triangle

Calmly, he steered the small fisherman’s boat over the clear, blue water. His spidery hands turned the steering wheel. He flicked the auto pilot switch and lent back into the old leather seat. The sun was beating down on him through the dirty, cracked windows. “At least it isn’t cold,” he muttered to himself.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been dozing for when, suddenly, he was awoken by a cold blast of wind. As if by magic he noticed the door was inching open. Without warning, as if hit by an invisible cannon ball, a massive thud to his chest knocked him into a mist.

Suddenly, he jumped out of bed. He sprang in front of the mirror and checked his chest for any signs of bruising or blood. Finally, after he had made sure that he was OK, George got back into bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

“George, how’s it going?” asked a worker George didn’t recognise. His dirty shoes looked completely out of place against the highly polished marble stairs as he climbed to the 57th floor. In fact, the whole way he dressed looked far too messy and out of place in a such a sophisticated building.

Just when he was about to scrunch up the report titled The Bermuda Triangle, the door swung open and the head of the IBPI (International Bureau for Plane Crash Investigation) walked into the room. The buttons were bulging under the seemingly impossible task of holding his suit together. His greasy hair was slicked over to one side and his pudgy, fat fingers were trying to fit into his pocket.

George stood up. With a fake smile and the politest voice he could muster, he said “Good morning Mr O’Callaghan. Please sit down. Would you like refreshments?” Not that he needed any but of course he didn’t say that. “No thank you George.” O’Callaghan said in his deep voice. “I dare say you know why I’m here.” Without waiting for an answer he went on. “You’ll finish your research on the Bermuda Triangle.”
“I’m not sure if it is safe enough to.” George was cut off by O’Callaghan.
“Another plane has gone down over the Bermuda Triangle. The last message we received was ALL IS MIST.”
“That’s my point. I don’t...” Again, George was cut off. O’Callaghan slammed his fist on the table. “You know I’ve spent a lot of money financing your research,” he shouted, spitting all over George. “And all my money would be wasted.”
By now his whole face was red and it looked like he would explode. O’Callaghan was renowned for being the most stubborn man on earth. He always got his way…

Waves tossed the boat like a feather and crew members were being lost by the second. George was fighting for control over the boat as he saw the last of the crew’s life end in a short scream and splash. He was alone in the mist…


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