Unlucky, Bingo

Flash fiction contest entry. Not sure where I was going with this one.

Unlucky, Bingo (298 Words)

Bingo peered out from inside his tent. The rain was lashing down, and his tent had been washed away in the night. He wasn’t in the calm green meadow anymore; instead, he was floating atop a broiling sea. There were snowcapped mountains to the south, but in all other directions, the sea stretched as far as the eye could see. Was he dreaming? He slapped himself across the face and shook his head. Nope, definitely awake.

He didn’t want to think about how it was possible that his tent was afloat — in case the universe noticed and corrected its mistake and sent poor Bingo down into the dark, cold depths. Instead, he zipped the tent back up, sat on the wobbling floor, and tried to think happy thoughts.

“I’ll be fine,” he consoled himself. “Nothing to worry about.”

Just then, a giant wave crashed against the side of the tent. The wind was howling and roaring.

“What are you talking about?” he shouted, throwing up his arms. “I’m gonna die!”

He opened the tent again and noticed that it was drifting towards a whirlpool. Looking up at the foreboding sky, he said, “Really?”

A crack of thunder rang out from the heavens, as if to say:

“Yeah, really.”

He went back inside and sat down, cross-legged. He switched on the small radio he’d brought for the camping trip. It was still tuned to a classical music station. Clair de Lune played softly from the speakers as the tent began to spin around the outer edge of the whirlpool.

Bingo Barnabas had lived a modest life. He’d kept mostly to himself. He never went looking for trouble — but it always knew where he was. It was typical that he’d go camping, only to end up going down a whirlpool.