As the water licked at its side, the boat continued to deteriorate, bit by bit.

The water was calm and serene and the boat just continued to rust. The paint was chipping off the slowly, revealing the metal below, ready to be turned red by the salt water. The rivets were starting to become loose. Their pressure had begun to release, allowing water to seep into the bottom of the boat ever so slightly. It needed to be emptied every couple of days.

It had seen a lot during its years. It had seen all the fish hauled over its side, the crabs collected in trolling traps, stains left from birds flying high overhead - even faded footprints from those who had ventured to sea in it.

It mostly sat tied to the dock, drifting as the tide passed it by everyday - rising and falling like an old pair of lungs - slow yet steady.

Many didn't use it anymore - for newer boats with engines were out skipping over the water, yet this boat hadn't been forgotten.

Every sunday, the new generation of the family came charging down the dock, hopping in, laughing and giggling, tied up in their life vests, clutching the sides with their tiny hands.

Even if they weren't as old as the boat, they still felt mature beyond their years, pretending they were captains out at sea, setting sail for an adventure.