Lost

Chapter 2

The mere thought of land gave immeasurable pleasure to the captain, made better by the sight to freshen up the imagery. Paradise--it was as if he stood before heaven's door after climbing thousands upon thousands of golden steep steps. He had reached it at long last, for the wait was worth every second, every jolt of pain, every pang of guilt or regret.

What used to be heavy rain pounding against him relentlessly now became a soft breeze. There were no more weights, nothing to obscure his vision. Death was not a constant thought running through the back of his mind. Only relief made its rounds, with a side of joy and triumph. The title of captain came with a primary responsibility: acting in the best of the crew's behalf--and of course his own because he was the most educated of the bunch.

The captain looked behind him and frowned as the harsh truth of reality surged into focus. Only four sailors stood on the quarterdeck, wearing the same expression as himself: elated and counting themselves the luckiest men alive to have such a leader. Their eyes were directed onto him, yet, they were really staring at the island beyond, past the body in their way.

There should've been a thick mob of bodies, not just a few that appeared as a poor excuse of an audience. With a sweat dripping from his brow, the captain could picture ghastly outlines standing in between what remained of his crew. All of them shared different poses, all of them had their own signature, but none had faces, except those that remained. That was how he could tell the living and dead, reality and illusion apart, more than the ghastly material.

"Cap'n?"

The captain jolted to his senses, taken off-guard by the voice. Blinking, he lost sight of the outlines; reality had returned in full force.

"Yes?" the captain asked, tugging at a loose sleeve embedded with gold around the collar. He laid his eyes on the sailor that provoked him, recalling that this was the one that irritated him earlier. 

"We have got to land, Cap'n. The ship won't hold for much long'r," the sailor declared, and frantically dabbed his red forehead with his cap. 

"What?" the captain demanded, then hustled over to the edge of the quarterdeck, his hands gripping the railing with such intensity that his knuckles were white. In dismay, he realized that the ship was tilting ever so slightly to the left. It would only be a matter of time before She would sink.

"How much further?" he inquired, not looking over his shoulder. Instead, he stared at the deck before him. Crew members ran up and down, tying knots, swabbing the floor, fetching barrels from below, readying the cannons--

"Cap'n!" a sailor exclaimed right in his ear, so he snapped back into focus. The ship was rapidly tilting on its side, water pouring in from the keel. Wood creaking ruptured the once serene air--he had thought they were free of the hell earlier, but it was still here. He was fooled by an image of gold, the repercussions taking form.

"Prepare to abandon ship," he announced in a booming voice, before hustling down the stairs attaching to the right of the quarterdeck. His crew confusedly hollered after him, yet, he paid no heed to any of it. Upon stepping foot on the deck, he stared to his left to see an ocean waiting to swallow him whole. The water that reached his ankles attempted to drag him away, but he was holding steady, at least for now.

Entranced by the scenery of the glittering ocean ahead, the captain's eyes darted to his left. The door to his cabin continuously rattled against the wall, water seeping in and out of the malfunctioning entrance. This was his destination, the reason why he came down here in the first place. There was something down here that would greatly help in keeping together his crew and maintaining his title of captain. He couldn't leave without it.

He barged into the cabin after slamming the door on its hinges to stop the rattling. Already, the room was diagonally tilted, the once organized condition now completely ruined and messy. His table was stuck against the right wall, with papers and books floating in the water that had gathered most on the lowering right.

Desperately attempting to remember the whereabouts of his beloved journal, his eyes shot over to the table. That was where he wrote and stored it. Every night, he would write a daily account of what happened, who did what, and his comments on it. If he were to die at sea, this was one way of storing his legacy, though he wished to have a better method eventually.

He stomped through the rapidly rising water that was now up to his knees. A longing surged into his heart at the sight of the fancy dark wood and gold. Subconsciously, he glanced at his attire, noticing the same wealthy appearance. He wanted to make himself appear powerful and exquisite, especially around his crew. His quarters shared no different fate.

"Cap'n! Hurry!" a sailor called out from the deck, so the captain immediately began to pull out drawer after drawer. An ornamental wardrobe suddenly detached itself from the wall, now a bullet heading straight for him. He pulled the drawer at the very bottom out, his eyes widening in shock.

Just before the wardrobe collided with the table, he yanked the untouched journal out of its cozy den and leapt over the table. Behind him, the two objects smashed into another, more papers and objects spilling everywhere, lost in the water. Lost forever.

It was hard to look at the bars of gold and silver, even the little coins, for they all had their own experiences brought in--their own memories to cherish when times were dull. He had to move on; there was no time to waste. Clutching his journal tightly to his chest, as if it was the last thing he had in the world, he ran out into the deck.

"Here, Cap'n!" a sailor exclaimed, exasperated, so the captain's focus darted over to the source. His crew was still waiting, two of them gripping the ropes holding the rowboat up. The other two were frantically gesturing for their captain to come, which he did after a brief moment of shock. Everything was happening so fast--the boat he raided vessels with for his entire career as captain was gone; the crew he had shared laughs and gold alike with was diminished; and he was about to become nothing with no legacy left behind--but he had a crew to lead and survival to ensure.

He rushed to the rickety rowboat. Once he was in, the rest of the sailors quickly slipped in. The little space was irrelevant, for lives were on the line. Time was about to run out.

"Brace for impact!" a sailor shouted, before going to work on the rope with a small dagger. Once that one broke, the other followed in swift succession. As if he was dropping from the sky, the captain held onto his hat and journal with all of his might. He shut his eyes, afraid that he would not make it; afraid that the sea would engulf him.

But when only a calm sea could be heard, as well as the sailors' panting, he slowly opened his eyes. They were not below the sea's surface, drowning or being torn apart by creatures mentioned in only the darkest tales, but above. Gleefully laughing, he shot his hat up to the sky with his crew mimicking him.

The sailors were still stricken by guilt as shown by their misery-shrouded eyes. They were old and beaten, ready to call the day over; however, they would not be able to rest until a safe haven was reached. In order to survive, every little second of daytime had to be used efficiently. They desired to see their families again, rest in their comfortable beds without having to fret about anything; but life was different now. It was as if a new one had just begun, at least that was what it seemed like to the captain.

They had lived another day.

The worst was over... surely.