On stranger tides, the enemy
moving closer than he thought; creeping up like a shadow. Cannons fully loaded,
barrels overflowing, set up and aimed. Fog and mist making the deed harder than
it ought to be. The captain won’t hold back, when in his short history has he
ever made a wrong step? A cock sure captain. The smell of gunpowder locked in
his nostrils, his heart galvanising, the twitch of his soiled fingertips stimulating
the fuse alight in his veins. Sweat beads dripping off his long hooky nose, his
eyes squaring through the eyeglass. The smoggy weather so unpredictable and
alive, the cardiac muscle has contracted the gunpowder in his blood stream.
FIRE! …
The weather caused no hesitation.
He smiled to himself for the destruction was clear; he’d only known a life of
destruction. The haze made it more of a challenge, a life without games and
challenges was no life for him. Viewing the sea to admire his destruction, a queer
feeling arose in the pit of his stomach, his eyes as large as if he’d been on
opium. the captains heart numb, as if stabbed by tiny icicles; the ruin closer
to home than he could ever of imagined. For the captain recognised the dainty
baby blue hanky dancing in the hot wind.
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