Atlantic Ink

Light.

Breath.

Life.

This is the surface, and it’s been awhile.
“Welcome back Captain.”
I turn to see my first mate floating on a piece of what was once the mast of a great ship- my great ship. Now nothing but scattered wood wondering about the Atlantic. My ship still floats, only now she does so with a little more modesty.
“You’ve been under for three years”, he tells me. “How did the sea treat you?” “Fine”, I reply. After holding my breath for so long I find my voice weak and different than it used to be.
“I watched you sinking with that ship. I watched you fall all the way to the bottom. How did you find your way back”? he asks, as he bobs up and down in the chilly waters.
“A ghost showed me the way”, I remember, “Someone who fell with the ship. Someone I never realized was even on board.” “It’s a good thing”, he says to me, “that she was there to help you.” “Why do you assume it’s a she” I wonder back to him. “Ah, there’s no mistaking the compassion of a woman sir. It’s too pure to be missed.” “Too true” I think. Truly a good heart beats in his chest, that’s why I made him First Mate many years ago. A ship is nothing without a good philosopher. But it’s even less without a good Captain. I guess that’s why my ship is now nothing. I wasn’t good enough. I should have read the charts. I should have watched the compass. I should have seen the fields of jagged rocks waiting to devour my vessel. But alas.

Ah the great god Alas. Always looking down on us. Always mocking our stupid, mortal decisions. He is a terrible god to serve, and yet we try.

My first mate surveys the flat, unstable horizon. “Where does your command take us from here?” he asks. His vote of confidence wakes me from my dream of self pity. I am still Captain and she didn’t save me to die at the surface. “We rebuild the ship and then we go home” I state. “But the sea is our home” he replies. “Then our task will be all the easier” I say, with all the confidence and swagger that a Captain should speak with. And so we go. Rebuilding our ship piece by piece, the same way it was done the first time around only now we do so without the luxury of land. But it bothers us little. We had forsaken earth long ago, for the water is now our element of choice.
Within two months I stand on the deck overlooking the starboard side of my ship as we narrowly escape a rabid storm. It’s anger had chased us for three days, but our ship now has the speed of her old self, with the knowledge and wisdom of a reborn captain. The sharks offer sacrifices and offerings, and the whales below applaud us as we pass. Nothing would stop us now. Not hurricanes, not lightning; Poseidon and Neptune will cry in each others arms. Let them try. Let them fail. Let them shiver at our greatness. So it will go for the ocean belongs to the brave, and we are the bravest of them all.