Hoist The Colours
A flash of green.
For years, I'd spent my time depending on the sunset, waiting for the horizon to blaze emerald, and then reveal an approaching vessel on the water. It had been almost ten years – ten long years – since I'd seen it last, and it was all I could do to hold on.
Each ten-year gap seemed to stretch out, taking longer to reach the next, and I've waited so patiently, occupying myself with raising a son and upholding a life on this here island. But now, at the age of 84, and three days from the next arrival of my husband, I wasn't sure if I'd make it.
Sitting alone, I'd watch the sunset every night from the cliff side. I knew that I wasn't going to see green until that one faithful night ten years from the last, but I sat every night anyway, envisioning it in my mind and living for the moment when he'd appear – he'd come.
My son – William Jack Turner, born exactly nine months since his father's initial departure – had left years ago, piracy washing him away onto a thrilling journey to an unknown destiny. I'd let him go, knowing in my heart I'd probably never see him again, but that he would live a better life out in the world than taking care of his old mother on an isolated island. And so, I was then left but with one definite thing lingering on my heart, the eventual return of my lover.
Another day passed, and it was only two more days until I would see the Dutchman and its weeded sails approaching. I could feel my body weakening, but I refused, mustering all the will I had and rejecting death. I would see him again, one last time.
Again, the sunset came and went with nothing but the golden sun disappearing from a blood-red sky. I never saw any ships from my position on that cliff, other than the Dutchman; it was never along any other craft's route. Still, I waited on, my frail hands holding the engraved walls of the chest in my arms. I could hear it, hear the thud of his heart. I swore that it quickened slightly whenever his visit approached. But I could not be sure, my aged mind was playing more and more tricks on me lately. Sometimes I would swear I could see green, see the shadow of sails where the sea met the sky. But it was not to be and my heart knew it for it hadn't been long enough. I counted.
The night sky blanketed the world and I left the cliffs, retiring to sleep. I rested under the stars that night, forming shapes and images in my mind, starry lovers running to each other in the sky above. I woke the next morning – forcing consciousness into myself; I was not going to leave now. I would wait; I would last. Wasting the day away, I spent my time checking the fish nets and collecting bananas from beneath the groves. The hours didn't go by fast enough, and my breath rattled out of me over and over, begging for release, but I would not give.
Finally, after so long, I was back at the cliff side, watching the sun halfway through its descent in the sky. The clouds blocked it from sight every now and then, and I feared I would miss the moment it sank beneath the border. But when it finally touched the water, the clouds remained above it, leaving it perfectly in sight. My old heart beat faster, faster than it should – the pain echoing in my chest. But I ignored it, focused on the red that would soon shine as green as the grass beneath me. Lower and lower, all I could see was the tip of yellow, and I stood uneasily, holding myself up as my cracked lips parted in a smile.
Suddenly and momentarily blinded, light erupted before me and I shielded my eyes unwillingly, wanting to see every second of it. The sea reflected green, and even when the flash disappeared, my eyes were emblazed green. For a second I thought my heart was going to fail – I could see nothing. But then, an almost insignificant speck to the untrained eye appeared, its tall mast growing in size as it approached. Soon enough, the full form of a ship was only miles off the coast, and a small dingy floated nearer to the island, a tiny figure inside. I found my way down to the sand, practically hobbling on the soft, uneven ground to reach the shore.
There he was, William Turner, my love. He stood in his small rowing boat, bandana tied across his head, scar rippling over his chest, raggy clothes holding together through thick and thin. And he was young, young as ever – resistant to the cruelty of time and preserved by immortality. However much I had aged, he was unchanged, the same William I had always known and remembered. The boat hit sand and he stepped out, light steps over the sand, not even sinking an inch. I approached, feeling as if I would fall at any second, ready for him to catch me.
Finally, his arms were holding mine, our lips together as they had been ten years before. We embraced like long lost lovers – our true identities. I buried my head on his shoulder, lining his scar with my finger, old and withered beside his youthful, tanned skin. We pulled away, looking into each other's eyes as the night sky few over us, my body feeling a small surge of energy at his presence.
We spent the night under the stars, like I had so many times but he hadn't for years. Our fingers intertwined, hidden under the blanket of darkness. I could feel myself, a dying being beside him. Sometimes I felt undeserving, as if I was letting him down. He had to watch me age, become a bent old woman with nothing to offer. Yet he'd stood by me, and my heart beat harder for him. I looked to my side, staring at him stare at the sky. We slept, dreaming of what we'd experience together when we woke; each other. The day moved slowly, or so it seemed. We barely moved, locked to each other's side, watching the sunrise, and then see it move further into the bright sky. There was only one thing on my agenda…
He almost refused, pushing it back into my hands and stepping away. After having him by my side for over twelve hours, I felt a little cold at his distance. But I just moved closer, pushing the chest back into his arms and telling him he must. When I was gone, who would care for it? No. He'd have to find someone worthy. He didn't want to – wished I'd keep it. But I told him there was no use, I was sure to be gone too, and his heart didn't deserve to be left alone. I could feel its beat slow as he considered the offer, its thud hollowing – and then it was back. He accepted it, smiling and nodding to my final wish.
The last few hours were spent back on the cliff, watching the sky transform to crimson. The clouds disappeared, leaving the sky clear, an open path for the sun to fall. My face dropped and I look to my lap, my hand resting in his. I knew it would be one of the last memories I would preserve, one of the last I'd have. His hand twitched, and I knew it was time. He looked to me, waiting for me to approve – despite the fact he'd have to go either way. I nodded, and he helped me up, supporting my weak frame as we returned to the shore, the waves lapping at our feet. He held the chest in his arms, promising to find someone suitable to hold it. I felt tears stain my cheeks, running down the lines of my face. He came and wiped them, kissing me gently and long, holding it until we needed air. His feet descended further into the water as he took to the boat, sailing off the coast and making his way back to the ship that had appeared to retrieve its Captain. I waited until he was too distant for me to make out his face, his features, then stepped back and sat on a rock. I felt void without the constant beat of his heart sitting beside me, and realised that my own was slowing. I breathed deep, watching the rowboat reach its master, the sails turning as the Dutchman prepared for its next voyage. Sliding down onto the soft sand beneath an overhanging tree, I watched the sun disappear once more.
My body was failing, my mind slipping. The ship shrank, furthering itself with the winds, and there was green, and I saw no more.