The Storm

The sea was alive. A wild and tumultuous beast, she roared and raved like a drunkard, reckless beyond reason. The wind and the sky, her most loyal minions, dashed anything in her path until it was nothing but sand and crushed bone; above, lightning shattered the midnight sky, momentarily casting away her sparkling diamonds as though they were but glass. The inky depths below hissed and thundered a strange symphony, and the wind was her conductor, orchestrating their cacophony.

She churned and wrestled with the small bark in the middle of the sea, tossing it about like a child’s toy. Lightning pierced the sky and thunder roared, yet the boat stayed afloat. Men shouted as waves crashed over the sides, sliding from bow to aft in one swift moment. The few in the rigging struggled to keep their grips, crying out to a God that would not answer. The water, restless, fought on and on, as did the men, until neither could stand. Rain, cold and unfeeling, pelted the bare-chested sailors onboard, blinding them momentarily, making them squint into the onslaught. The captain of the vessel, a courageous young man of Italian and French decent, had tied himself to the wheel long ago, resolved to die where he stood. But when his ship sunk, all would know he died along with his crew, trying his best to save them, save L'Ange de la Mer. It was hopeless battle, but one he fount nevertheless. And fought it he did, and with pride, his hair slapping his forehead, blood dripping into his eyes from and unknown source. His shirt had long since been ripped off by the violent wind, but his eyes still blazed with a power only gained through hard times and determination. The word no never once left his lips or raced through his thoughts; only blasphemies and every once in a while, a lyric could be heard over the tumultuous resounding of waves and thunder.

Dead men will tell no tales so tell no tales will I! Running wild and flying free, I can touch the sky! We sail for God or we sail for gold, or we sail for those to behold our grand and sublime beauti’ vessel, never shall we be so bold! A bottle of rum and glass of ‘ale, tell the boys, ‘I’ll see ye in ‘ell!” Maniacal laughter erupted from his lips. “We’ll be dining with the devil tonight, and I daresay we shall arrive fashionable late!”

Daring to let one hand go of the wheel, he shoved his tricorn down harder on his head, a fierce grin spread across his face. His hands were crimson, but he did not see; his eyes were bloodshot but he did not notice. His heart pounded in his chest like a drum, hard and fast. A wave slapped him for his audacity, but he merely continued to laugh at it.

“Steal the queen and give the king a Turkish Delight; kill the prince, avoid the fight! Kiss the princess and marry the maid; don’t give up ‘til ye give ‘em raid! Hate the rich, love the paup’; love the pris’nor, hate the fop! You can bake yer cake and eat it too, but give me a piece to throw at you!”

He threw his head back, close to convulsing, his courage evident in the harsh contours of his face. Never before had he feared Death, and he did not now, for he and Death had gotten along beautifully for all his twenty years. He was prepared for a long-term relationship with her.

“Capitaine!” a voice cried. “Capitaine Casagrande,” it repeated, “what do we do now?!”

“Have the sails been cut of their lines?!”

“Oui!”

Casagrande grinned like a mad man. “Then prepare to meet your Maker, Phillipe!”

The sailor flinched, his grip on the mast tightening. “Is there surely no hope, monsieur?”

“Not enough for us!”

Through the wind and rain, Phillipe watched his leader, his capitaine, for a moment, true fear creeping into his mind.

“Are we to die?” he asked as softly as one can in such a storm.

Suddenly Casagrande’s temper flared. “Have I not,” he roared, startling the poor man, “made that clear, sailor? Have I not made it absolutely clear that there is no possible chance for survival?! Have I not—”

He suddenly stopped himself, breathing deep. “Go, Monsieur Dubois; enjoy yourself as much as you can in these last few moments.”

As the young man scampered up the rigging, the captain’s voice could be heard above the storm.

“My soul shall wonder the sea some day, and wonder it gladly shall I! The sea is my home, my own, my own, and never be parted shall I! I wonderful gust, and a strongful blow, low, low and behold! The sea is mine for just the taking, be glad, be sad, I’m home!”

Lightning shattered the midnight sky, and thunder boom directly after; the water rose and plummeted the ship mercilessly. Waves ripped it apart, and men screamed as they flailed about in the unforgiving icy seas; the captain had deaf ears to such taunts and pleas. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest, and he sang to the beat of it.

The ship shook, creaking and groaning beneath him, and he smiled into the wind.

“Oh Death, where is thy sting? Oh Grave where is thy victory. You thought You had a hold on me, but you were wrong I’ve been set free!”

With a final crack, the grand vessel and her courageous crew slipped beneath the waves and into the dark grave below.


Haha I had fun with that one :)