The Green Flash
Now and then, when the sun dips below the deep blue of the cold Atlantic Ocean, a green flash, bright but short, showers the dimming sky in a dying glimpse of light, gracing the sea before the moon and the stars spatter the night with their dim flickering glow. Legend says the green flash only appears when a soul is released from Davy Jones' locker, returned to the land of the living from the shackles of death. Despite all my years aboard the mast, I have yet to see this mystical green flash. Some can go lifetimes without a glimmer, while others are lucky enough to see it on their first voyages. I once heard a story of a captain so drunk with madness that he sailed off into the sunset and made way for the world's end, searching for this elusive green flash. But all he and his crew found was a cold and icy ocean, making port in the land of the dead. Some say seeing the green flash is a good omen, while others say it is a dark curse to any ship and its crew. I am impartial as I am yet to see the flash, though I am yet to die. For 15 years I have been captain of the Celeste, and for many more, I have sailed the high seas, swabbing decks, reefing sails, and scurrying up the mast. You would think by now I would have seen it, but nay. There is little comfort in knowing that the ocean could send you to the icy depths of Davy Jones’ locker at any time, guided by The Flying Dutchman to your eternal suffering. There is little joy in the realization that the booming thunder above could be the last sound you hear and there is little relief in knowing that every time you leave port, it could be the last time you see land.
Yet I sail all the same with the spray on my scared and damaged face and the wind in my knotted and drenched hair. My hands are covered in calluses from the knots I’ve tied, my arms ache as I hurl the wheel to keep the ship steered well and true, and every time I return to make port I wonder if I will ever venture out again. But then again, no matter how many seas I have sailed, no matter how many men I have commanded, I still have one last sight to see: the speck of green that graces the dimming sky as the sun dips below the Atlantic waves. The illusive green flash. And I shall sail until I see it or Davy Jones takes me with him. I shall sail until the fire in me dies out,
and the icy depths of the cold Atlantic claim me.