Will had waited ten years, patiently and impatiently. The Dutchman rose from the deep like a whale; breaching the surface in an impressive display of spray and stressed timbers resonating with the frequency of whale song. There on the sheered cliffs the sunrise bled red over the rocks and Will looked for a silhouette. Dawn passed to morning and she did not come. High Noon burned away the shadows and the ship's glass was called and set and still she did not come. The rainbow sky at dusk shifted towards twilight as the sun sank into the devouring waves and she did not come. All through the night he waited for a light to bounce along the black canvas of the island. Elizabeth was not coming, would never come. Will envisioned his future. What stretched out before him filled him full of sorrow: trapped on the Dutchman and taking on a more monstrous form over time. He wanted none of it. Despair filled him as the glow of the impending sun, rising anew from the underworld, turned the world golden. Time had run out, like broken hourglass. Will retreated to his cabin and opened his chest. There lay his still beating heart. Dawn, triumphant, stabbed through the horizon and Will, desolate, pierced his own heart.
