USS Apocalypse

Grand Cayman

Mitch slept in again, but he didn't race to get up once he realized that it was 8:30 instead of 5:30. He layed in bed, thinking, before finally standing up and getting dressed. Long khaki pants, sandals, and a white shirt. Perfectly casual.

Grand Cayman was one of his favorite ports, but he couldn't get to shore until the afternoon. It had started to rain by then, a steady drizzle that drove everyone inside. Mitch didn't retreat, just continued walking down the sidewalk.

A chicken pranced by, it's dark eyes examining Mitch. Mitch gulped and quickened his pace, unsettled. The street was filled with the sound of rain. Slowly, a dull thumb of a bass permeated the storm, Mitch noticing that it was my the resident Margaritaville.

He could see people inside, laughing, watching some sport-game on TV. Mitch smiled a little, spotting a group holding little yellow drinks, reminiscent of the shots Kathan sold every other day. They were so happy, so content... almost unaware of the drizzling rain outside that chilled Mitch to the bone. Mitch sighed and turned to keep walking.

A dog approached him at one point. A stray. Its fur was matted and mangy, but its eyes held a friendly warmth. Mitch smiled and let himself scratch its ears for a moment before continuing on.

Mitch finally reached the coast. The short stretch of sand between the sea-grapes and the sea was beat down by rain. A boat, submerged in sand, laid nearby, its wood rotting slowly. It had been bleached white by the unrelenting sun.

What color had it been before? Brown? Well, probably brown. But what shade? What had it felt like before it became brittle as the brine of the sea? What did it do before it was stranded, did it sail the ocean, proud as the Breeze, which was docked in the port nearby?

It had been changed so much, and if anyone tried to put it back on the water, it would sink to its watery grave. What could it ever do? A vessel stranded on land will never  sail again. 

Mitch stood for a moment in silence, contemplating. Then, he moved to sit on the side of the boat, wishing to rest his legs. The moment he put his weight on it, it crumbled. With a strangled yell that loosely resembled a curse, he fell into the pile of brittle wood. Mitch groaned and started to get up, but a plague of white insects suddenly appeared from within their nest of rotting wood. Mitch shrieked and bolted up, immediately doing the only thing he could think of: run into the water.

The waves washed over him, sweeping away the insects. Mitch sighed in relief, rubbing the areas where the bugs had bit him. They hadn't left a mark, but it was itchy. Mitch sat there in the water for a minute, glad that his wallet was waterproof and that he left his phone in his cabin. 

At one point, he realized that a school of small, pale fish had descended upon him, to feed on dead skin and whatever else Mitch had stuck to his legs. It didn't hurt at all, just tickled. Mitch allowed a small laughed to escape. Exfoliation, he thought to himself.

The rain ceased a minute later, and Mitch decided that he better get going.  He shook his legs, scaring the fish away, before slowly walking out of the water. The rain had left a small breeze behind, chilling Mitch to the bone. Hugging his arms, he walked off the beach and back onto the path.

~

Not as many people came to the Triva that night, for some odd reason. Mitch had expected more, after last night's success. But alas, it seemed like the 80s were out. Mitch caught himself wondering several times if the fervor of last night had been but a crazy dream. 

The lonely ending chords of Take on Me seemed to echo through the halls, barely audible as Mitch walked past the noise of the casino on his way to the elevator. People jeered as they rolled the Craps dice, or spun the Roulette wheel. Mitch had never been one to gamble, he thought it was stupid. Says someone in the entertainment business, he thought, managing to bring a smile to his own face.