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Sometimes she dreams of sinking, of forever relaxing
her seams and hatches and allowing the cool green water to bathe
her tormented bulkheads and decks in darkness (she cannot feel
the cold), growing heavier and heavier in her holds. She imagines
her last sight of the sunlight on the seait is always daylight
when she drowns. The rippling shimmers slowly become glowing rays
of fractured light above her masts, gradually rising high above
her as the shadows of the depths close in. She felt her last breath
of wind long ago.
Then the weight and denseness will enfold her, embrace her, tighten
and begin to crush her. Finally she will arrive drifting in broken
pieces to her eternal rest against sand that she can neither see
nor feel except as cessation of motion. Then the gold can call
until her heart cracks. The pain can blaze through her timbers,
her submerged sails can strain futilely, her screams can tremor
the earth. But she will be safe. Safe in her self-imposed prison.
Unable to kill for those cursed bits of metal ever again.
The images come to her in fragments. Frantic ships unable to
outrun her, spitting their ineffectual fire in stinging gouts
against her sides, water red with blood and flames. Great fortresses
belching iron death through her decks, unaware that she cannot
die. Towns echoing with roars and screams and then, worst of all,
silence and the crackle of the inferno she always leaves in her
wake.
Sometimes she wishes she could go completely mad, push herself
beyond a knowledge of what she does, banish memory forever, blot
out her awareness of what she has becomethe slave of men
enslaved by greed.
And yet she is held to the surface of the sea, to those last
flickering splinters of sanity, by one fine threadsomewhere,
she does not know where, out in the vast loneliness of the night,
under the pitiless glare of the sun, her Captain still searches
for her with freedom in his hands.
~.~
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