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Narrative Essay : A Short Story : The Story Of The Story-A Story?

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Jake Parson’s mother called it the magic hour: the moment when a day passes into evening, when the earth feels suspended before darkness and slumber. In the gold and reddening light, an easy southwest breeze propelled Jake’s thirty-five-foot sailboat through the Beaufort Inlet for the first time. He had been delayed by more than a week. First, a storm had blown him off course, followed by a shift in wind that kept him off shore. He longed to see his brother, Glenn, who was waiting for him in port. He’d just passed Fort Macon and the thin ribbon of Outer Banks that protected the mainland. When a gull cried as it flew over his boat, Jake tracked it for a moment before it blended into the dusky sky. It was the first land animal he’d seen in days. As he navigated through the channel, the last low rays of the sun illuminated the white church steeple and the sails of a windmill on the horizon. The current strengthened when the waterway narrowed, and he used the steeple to site his course towards the town. Jake held fast to the tiller, as tiny line of houses and stores came into view, reminding him of a doll-size village. After the Jamison rounded the west end of Carrot Island, the Beaufort Harbor opened to him, welcoming him like a safe embrace. Jake turned his attention to his crew, a Labrador retriever, who cast his nose into the air to catch the savory smells of supper accented with fish house debris. Jake smiled when Pilot whined and danced at the prospect of land after

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