STORM

– STORM

Cold peirces the steel hull, like icy fingers probing through every crevice and nook. No man finds comfort, no man finds relief. Stale bodies huddle together and shiver, clinging to eachother and the surrounding cold environment. The hull groans with each wave beating its full power against it. This thin shell of man made steel all that stands between the wide eyed men and the full force of nature.

The ship sailing at full speed launching itself off the crests of waves, designed to cut through possidons greatest waves like heated blade through flesh. The seasoned men stand, braced and ready on the upper decks in defiance of the storm, some wild eyed and laughing, breaths soaked with rum and skin wrinkled from sun and stained with ink from ports unknown. These men have no country anymore, the belong to the sea, but it is a belonging that is in constant flux, at one moment a sunny day and a light breeze giving new meaning to beauty, the next moment is one of abject terror and monstrous waves seeking to pull brave souls to the depths, to a tomb no one will ever visit

Death in the ocean is never peaceful. One would hope to be struck by falling debrie and silenced quickly, rather then float in the elements with the tourture of the mind relenting in its horror at the hoplessness of ones situation. Other options include being relentlessly dragged under the sea then pushed to the surface struggling for breath only to be cruelly pulled down again, this is repeated untill finally the lungs give out, or ravaged by the denizens that call the ocean home

All this aside. Time after time, men will crawl into steel temporary homes, and defy the most ancient of gods, Possidon, Yam, leviathan, Enki and many more in search of adventure, riches, and meaning.

NO GRAVE BUT THE CRUEL SEA.

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