Disclaimer: Don't own them.
A Sight to Behold
by
Claudia M. Gacrux
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Give me a spirit that on this life's rough sea
Loves t' have his sails fill'd with a lusty wind,
Even till his sail-yards tremble, his masts crack,
And his rapt ship run on her side so low
That she drinks water, and her keel plo
George Chapman, Tragedy of Charles, Duke of Byron. Act iii. Sc. 1.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He has never been more effervescent than he is at this very moment, sitting on a barrel on the deck of his beloved and newly retrieved Pearl. He's holding a bottle of rum in his hand, taking a swig from time to time, all the while his crew is excitedly telling him how they set out on a perilous journey to the ends of the Earth.
He laughs when Ragetti confesses to him that the crewmen couldn't imagine sailing the seas without him, and even though he tries to hide how much their loyalty pleases him, his large black eyes glimmer with mirth and pride, giving him away.
But all in all, it does not bother him.
After returning from the dead, he is a different man. He has changed, matured, because even if he doesn't want to admit it, death does put a lot of things into perspective. Things like life, for example. And admittedly, he's learned a lesson or two—not that anyone will ever find out about that.
Flashing his white and gold teeth, he keeps up the pretense of being the good ol' Jack, who doesn't give a damn about anyone but himself. It's not difficult, for he's great at deceiving people, and besides, arrogance has always helped him mask his emotions. While he talks, he waves his hands about a lot, jeweled rings glinting on his long, thin fingers, his bronzed skin glowing in the golden lantern light. He's the center of attention, but somehow he's unable to enjoy it.
As his eyes scan the deck, he rises to his feet and excuses himself, confused. Maybe he just needs to be alone for a moment. Perhaps he needs more rum.
With the half-empty bottle dangling from his fingers, he glides up the quarterdeck stairs. His tunic rustles as he strides to the rail, heavy boots thudding against the creaky boards. He glances at the wheel, weathered spokes catching the ghastly moonlight, and strokes the wood of the rail, listening to the sounds of the night.
The waves crash against the hull, glittering like diamonds and whispering words of comfort as the wind blows lightly, pulling at his tunic, running its wispy fingers through his long black hair twined with beads and baubles. The salt spray stings his cheeks while he breathes in the aroma of seawater. For a moment he can't gather his thoughts, various shapes and images flash before his eyes, painful memories invade his mind. He grits his teeth, clenches his fist, willing himself to forget everything he saw in the Underworld. He doesn't need memories, all he needs is his ship. His ship and fair wind in the sails, the vast horizon and freedom, his freedom. He's been through a lot in his life, and nothing will ever break him down. Nothing, not even that. He will tear despair out of his heart just as one would tear a few pages out of a boring book. And he will be alright...eventually.
He heaves a deep sigh, watching the ebony sea swell into shimmering waves. Myriads of stars dot the sapphire sky, the silver moon nestles among the pillows of clouds. It is a beautiful sight, one that convinces him that he's strong enough to overcome his demons.
A sight to behold, indeed.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Read and Review. Please?