No sign of the captains body in the water.
The First mate once again fell to sleep. Tonight the dreams were of half remembered faces, phantoms from ports which nights of heavy drinking had smeared into a blur of regrets. A quiet walk down the street at night, slow as if wading through a viscous liquid. Colors running together into the cobblestone gutters. People rushing by in epileptic shivers. The feeling is not of traversing these roads, but of being taken; led by the hand to this place and to that fateful night. The girl is with him. She clutches his hand tight, wide open swings the front door, drunkenly the steps are climbed and hastily clothes hit the floor. His body is unscathed by the hazards of this world, hers is as porcelain fragile and flawless, struggling to live up to what is expected. This is the only type of relationship he has ever known. A stranger, he enters her, they mix into one form. Her brunette curls flow so that at no point in the dream is her face revealed. Roughly he thrusts home, feeling slightly less alone. Sooner than anticipated he is finished, the release sends them shuddering onto the cold hard bed. Back to earth. He tips her an extra 3 coins this time. Feeling a strange emptiness, he creeps out into the rainslick blackness. The ship is leaving soon, don't keep the captain waiting. The newly promoted First mate decides to piss. To his dismay, here, in midstream, the sidewalk is dissolving before his eyes.
Briefly he surfaces into conciousness, for a moment his tired eyes think they see the captain peering at him; his head bobbing just above the waters edge. he tires to rub the dust from his eyelids but sleep paralyisis renders him frozen. He tries to supress his panic, the visage of the Captain has moved closer now. The first mate wants to scream out, but his throat constricts and quickly his thoughts spiral out of control. Ghastly reaper, come to take him away, come to collect his life and turn to dust. The mirage mercifully relents and the first mate descends back into the unusually lucid dream.
The First mate once again fell to sleep. Tonight the dreams were of half remembered faces, phantoms from ports which nights of heavy drinking had smeared into a blur of regrets. A quiet walk down the street at night, slow as if wading through a viscous liquid. Colors running together into the cobblestone gutters. People rushing by in epileptic shivers. The feeling is not of traversing these roads, but of being taken; led by the hand to this place and to that fateful night. The girl is with him. She clutches his hand tight, wide open swings the front door, drunkenly the steps are climbed and hastily clothes hit the floor. His body is unscathed by the hazards of this world, hers is as porcelain fragile and flawless, struggling to live up to what is expected. This is the only type of relationship he has ever known. A stranger, he enters her, they mix into one form. Her brunette curls flow so that at no point in the dream is her face revealed. Roughly he thrusts home, feeling slightly less alone. Sooner than anticipated he is finished, the release sends them shuddering onto the cold hard bed. Back to earth. He tips her an extra 3 coins this time. Feeling a strange emptiness, he creeps out into the rainslick blackness. The ship is leaving soon, don't keep the captain waiting. The newly promoted First mate decides to piss. To his dismay, here, in midstream, the sidewalk is dissolving before his eyes.
Briefly he surfaces into conciousness, for a moment his tired eyes think they see the captain peering at him; his head bobbing just above the waters edge. he tires to rub the dust from his eyelids but sleep paralyisis renders him frozen. He tries to supress his panic, the visage of the Captain has moved closer now. The first mate wants to scream out, but his throat constricts and quickly his thoughts spiral out of control. Ghastly reaper, come to take him away, come to collect his life and turn to dust. The mirage mercifully relents and the first mate descends back into the unusually lucid dream.
