Asylum Harbor

The Captain's pale hands shook as he took a cigarette out of it's pack.
Not much of a smoker, he lifted the wrapped tobacco to his desert lips and lit the end anyway.
They had not seen another ship in what seemed like the ass end of forever.
The Captain knew no one would come looking for them.
As the smoke filled his lungs, the Captain's eyes floated across the dark sea.
Searching for any sign that ship or land was near but his weary eyes did not even meet a seagull.
Then again, weary eyes could not travel far.

The fog made sure of that.

The Captain flicked his half-smoked stick into the cruel ocean.
His hatred for the fog grew dangerously but the anger made his stomach groan and his legs weak.
What was left of the crew was sprawled around the ship, all eyes searching the sea.
The same anger that the Captain felt had engulfed them.
So did the hunger.
Only five of the original three dozen men remained.
And of those five, two were leaving.
He could see it in their eyes.
         Dreams, gals, kids.
                   All drifting away as the Turner drifted aimlessly into the fog.
The Captain would soon have to roll them into the waves with the rest.
The thought drove a shiver through his spine.

As he lit another smoke, thunder rolled across the sky.

No eyes had seen the sky in weeks.
Many hadn't seen the high flag in days.
One does not appreciate a cold, blue sky until it is gone forever.
Raindrops had started to fall through the fog.
The Captain gathered his energy and limped to the fore-cabin.
         No crew member, not even the Captain, would use the cabins.
         What if they missed something?
         Anything that might lead them to land.
         No man would take that chance, so all crew members remained outside.
Pulling the empty bean cans, he lined them near the fading crew.
The rain rhythmically pattered into the metal cans.
The waves, which had been relatively calm for the last week or so, had started to rise.
         The Captain was not concerned for the Turner was renowned for her toughness.
         She had sailed through some of the meanest, most violent storms man had ever witnessed.
         Each storm seemed to make the ship stronger.

A flash of lightning exploded through the fog.

The rhythmic rain picked up its tempo.
It beat heavily like the tribal drums the Captain had seen during the crews stay in Northern Africa.
         The Captain had been with the ship since her maiden voyage.
         Through every storm and famine, exploration and conquering.
         Every feast and boarding, all of the arrests and hangings.
         He had always been there.
         The Captain had always said he was born the day he stepped foot on the bitch, and he would die before he stepped off the bitch.

Thunder roared like a starved lion on the prowl.
For the storm was, by all means, king of its jungle.
It would rein king in this darkened corner of the earth.
With that, every king must eat and the Turner was a lost and lonesome gazelle.

Another roar snapped the Captain from his thoughts.
In all his years on the water, his ears had never heard such a sound.
The cold sea, now punching the ship like a heavyweight boxer, had swallowed one of the crew.
         He was gone, eaten by an endless black hole that would never spit him back out.
                   There was nothing the Captain could do.
The Captain started to fight his way to the bow, where the Ericson brothers were laying.
A large wave shook the vessel and he was tossed to the deck.
Blood spilled down the Captain's face and through his beard.
He looked back at the bow and the boys were gone.
Only the Captain and the second youngest crew member, Jakob, remained.
         Jakob was about 15 years of age, but the boy was a fighter.
         The Captain saw a lot of himself in the young boy who would have made a fine captain one day.

Wind howled like the wolves to the full moon on a starred night.
The storm violently tore the black flag from its home.
The sea, now looking for a knockout punch, sent all its might.
Jakob laid on the deck as the storm continued to throw its weight around.
The night was starting to surround them.
Neither man would speak the words, but both had thrown hope into the sea with their dead.

Either the storm would claim them or time would.

The Captain, still bleeding, sat against the cabin, eyes closed waiting for death to claim its prize.
A glimmer of light passed across the Captain's eyelids.
He thought of it only lightning, but then it happened again.
And again.
The Captain's eyes snapped open.
A light pierced through the fog and rain and the darkness.
The light floated across the water meeting the boat with a warm greeting.
Shaking his head to assure he was not only dreaming, the light stayed.
The Captain rose to his feet and made his way, as fast as he could, to the ship's wheel.
Directing the ship towards the beam that would save his life, the craft would not move with ease.

The morning light chased away the night.
The Turner moved slowly through the rugged waters, chasing its savior.
As excitement filled him, the Captain yelled for Jakob to help with the sails.
No response came.
The Captain found the boy laying on the deck, barely breathing
but breathing none-the-less.

He would have to save them on his own.
Releasing the rest of the sails, the ship gained momentum.
The Turner was still being jabbed by the hands of the sea.
They would be on dry land in no time.
The Captain fought the storm for hours on end, he was exhausted.
They needed to gain speed.
Time started to drift away.
As time passed, so did the Captain's patience.
He started to throw everything he could scrounge up overboard.
Chairs, beds, clothes, the rest of the bean cans, everything.
The Turner glided a little quicker across the waters.

She sailed on and on.
         Sailing into the night, a day and back into the night.
                   Into the fog infected night.
                             With the beam of hope still guiding her.

Thunder rolled across the sky.
Louder than before.
The storm was beginning to pick back up.

The Captain couldn't understand.
He had sat in his own anger for too long.
Churning in his own thoughts.
Why wasn't the light getting closer?
Why did the storm never stop?
Why was this fucking fog still around him?
Why wasn't Jakob helping?
He was slowing them down.
         Lightning lit up the deck
                   The Captain saw Jakob, for just a brief second.
                             Lying against the cabin.

The Captain starting hitting the deck boards in anger.
         Breaking the railing.
                   Throwing the pieces into the sea.
                             Until the only thing slowing them down was the sea itself.
                                       And Jakob.

The sky poured like they were passing under an endless waterfall.
The Captain stood over Jakob.
The boy was still barely breathing.
His weight would drag them down and kill them both and the Captain wasn't going to allow it.
Jakob would help him, one way or another.
Grabbing Jakob's foot, the Captain started the drag to the side of the boat.
         It wasn't far.
                   A moan came from the boy.
                             His hand unsuccessfully tried to grasp at a crack in the boat.
                                       Reaching the side of the boat, they stopped.
                                                 The Captain leaned Jakob on the edge of the craft,

                                                 And shoveled him down into the darkness...

                                                           The splash left the Captain cold.

The air was chilled.
The Captain felt a light tickle on his bloodied face.
Startled awake, he found a light snow was falling on the ship.
Just enough for a light layer on the deck of the Turner and the Captain's beard.
His lungs burned, taking his first deep breath of the morning.
The seas had calmed and the Turner was floating through the darkened waters.
The Captain looked to the light and it had finally moved closer.
Even the fog had started to fade!
His chest hurt with excitement.
For the first time in forever, eyes met the light blue sky.
Tears watered and ran down his cheeks.

The outline of a light house appeared through the fog.
Slowing the ship, the Captain prepared to board dry land.
The lighthouse was odd.
The metal tower jutted right out of the sea.
Painted black, the light had no handles and no doors that the Captain could see.
         No marks and no grooves.
                   No steps and no ledges.
                             Not one sign that anyone had been there in awhile
                                       or that anyone was ever coming back.

Just a lighthouse.

The fog really started to spit the Turner out.
The Captain could start to see further around the lighthouse and the ship.
As the fog dissipated, the Captain's heart hurt more and more.
His stomach dropped.
He looked around in disbelief.
The Captain climbed as quickly as he could to the crow's nest.
The fog was all but gone
There was not land in sight.

Just a lighthouse,
In the middle of the ocean.
Something in his soul shattered,
         In his mind cracked,
                   In his heart snapped.

The Captain screamed.
He screamed at everything.
The fog, the lighthouse, the storm,
         The Turner, his crew, himself,
                   The snow, the sky, the sun.

The Captain screamed till his throat burnt and he couldn't make another sound.
He cried until all the frustrations and pain left his body.

The Captain's pale hand shook as he took a wet cigarette out of his pocket.
         He had been saving the last one for when the Turner safely made it ashore.
Sitting in the crow's nest the Captain looked into the cold, blue sky.
He let the smoke run deep.
When the cigarette was done, he dropped the butt into the sea.
The lighthouse had stopped.
The glaring eye now no longer guided any lost souls.
He glanced around, no fog in sight.
The way it should be.
Now the Captain could see the horizon, he no longer wished to.
         Laughing to himself, the Captain stepped onto the edge of the bird's nest and dove
                   Through the crisp air and down,
                             Down into the dark depths of the cruel ocean.

The Turner floated
Next to a lighthouse
In the middle of the ocean.