Lady Luck looked away

We weren't the first group of people to attempt to cross the Dread Sea, but we hoped to be the first to succeed. I suppose all the others hoped the same. I like to think there was something different about this trip, that we were the ones who would make it. Why shouldn't we? It's us. And me. I'm special. In reality we were just another unprepared, foolish group of men, daring to go into the unknown.  Every once in a while, a fool will have a lucky stumble and end up looking a capable and even adept journeyman. That was what was running through the back of my mind. Up front I thought only that I was destined to succeed. For I was a man and I had determination and confidence. So like and unlike all other men before and after me.

My crew and I set sail at midnight. We always do, in order to set ourselves apart from the others. It worked sometimes. We left the tavern we were in abruptly and boarded our ship. Even at this hour, we had peasants and townsfolk and a so-called oracle run ship side to tell us not to go. The sea is true to it's name! You'll die like all the rest!  Nobody knows what is out there! They hollered and shouted but we ignored it. Their wailing accompanied us out across the water, playing a warning song that fell on deaf ears. You could say we were foolhardy, you could say they were right. But we had an ace up out sleeve. Or so we thought.

The nights leading up to this one had us visit the Blue Mars trading company. They didn't even call it The Dread Sea. They called it Oil Ocean. Apparently they crossed it all the time, and the stories were fabricated for some reason or another. Whether it be pure bravado or twisted wives tales, they were certain the water was most passable. I didn't give it another thought. Perhaps I already had my mind made up before I even went to them. Either way it makes no difference. I asked what lay on the other side. They told me the same as this side, only farther away.

A full day into our travels and nothing of significance occurred. We rode the sea harshly, and at times she bucked, but we stayed onward as we always do. We were kings among shipmen. At least in our heads. Then days continued to roll over. Dark skies would greet us, and we would prepare for a storm that never came. Waves would lift up to crash down on us and then softly roll away. The rising sun would greet us, and a bright moon would watch over our dreams. I hadn't seen in a cloud the entire time. To be honest, I've never had an easier time at sea.   We rolled along the water, making great time. I assumed as much,  as I had no real idea of our destination. And eventually my shipmates took me aside in confidence and started to express concern. They had to muster all of their willpower to even speak to me, which in itself was strange, but what they reported to me was even stranger. We had been on open water for a full 23 days and 1 half day. I was taken aback, and visibly stirred. How are we not low on food? How are we not tired or sick or have landed? We were, they said. We are. But it isn't bothering us. We can't think. And I tried to figure out why this may be, but I couldn't.

I lost track of time. We all did. The sea was our home now.

Nobody was sure how long we had really been out there. And at this point we were all praying for something to happen to remove ourselves from this situation. It was as if we knew everything and nothing at once. Anything would be better than this. As if listening to our thoughts and obeying our commands,  the sea split wide and began to swirl. At first we traveled in small loops. Figure eights and little twists and swirls, before finally pooling in a large, open whirlpool.  We spun around the top lip for quite some time. Circling and expanding. The whirlpool grew ever wider. Our viewer, up in the nest, almost standing sideways, was the mightiest of us all. He never left his post and was always looking out to the horizon, though I don't know which one. Over the rush of water I could have sworn I heard him shout he saw land. Shouting that this wasn't over for us. If any of us were special, it would be him. Sadly it was over, and we weren't.

As the whirlpool grew, and we continued to fall deeper into the center, I held myself tight to anything strong and sturdy. At one point I looked for the other side of the whirlpool, and in a fit of disarray I failed to see water. This spinning water trap had spread so far open that I could not see it's far side! I only knew that it existed because we traveled it. Below us the water went down for an eternity and more. It opened into a deep black pit. Deeper on, water took on properties I didn't know it had, and in ways I couldn't understand. It looked as if the water sprung waterfalls from it's sides. It flowed straight down at points and up at others. It splashed and flopped and frightened me wholeheartedly. I closed my eyes. When I opened them nothing had changed but our location. We were deep in the pit. So deep that we stopped moving. I don't know how, but we sat on still water at the bottom of a spinning, cascading water funnel. We could only but hear it. Above us, the bright moon cast a spooky light down on us. It was the only light we had at this point. It illuminated the top of the shaft, allowing for a beautiful sight. A viewfinder of water and sky and a glowing moon. Around us was,  I assumed, water, and a cold black. Motionless we stayed on the still water, waiting, thinking. How many others has this happened to? Was this the fate of all the Dread Sea travelers? I could not know.

My eyes hurt from staring into the featureless walls of our cage. Our tomb. But I stared nonetheless. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Even as the thick fleshy tendrils protruded from the ether. Even as they gripped the ship and tore it to shreds. Later, when we tried to scream, it was muffled by these appendages as we were fed to their owner. We could see nothing. Just as those before. I could feel the bones of others as I was chewed and mashed apart. Just as all the others. I am not special.

Daisy hat

Hats aren't normally a thing paraded around as special. Hats are just hats, often even so not special that they cannot be bothered to be noticed. But Rebecca's hat was special. If only to her, that still made it special. But it truly was.

Some days it rained only on Rebecca. Most days though, she was thoroughly avoided by rain. A nimble fairy, with a whimsical essence allowing her to dodge raindrops. The clouds loomed overhead nonetheless. It seems to me, she thought, the clouds were worse than the rain. Stuck in the air like black paint fallen from a bottle. Jagged and hazy; a sky barricade.

Yesterday Rebecca's brother died. He was a priest. He used to be. Not because he is dead, because he quit. His last day in the church he casually walked out the doors, entering his new life. He walked with a spring in his step up until he got to the stone stairs and slipped. He toppled down, landing hard on his skull and cracking it. His brain bounced around as they are wont to do, even though it's so bad for them. This one was so bad that it never worked again afterwords. It rained that day. It rained today, too. But not on Rebecca.

The next day she went to the church to talk to the new priest. It made sense to her. She sat down next to him in the pew and folded her hands in her lap, staring daggers at nothing at all. Her head was so severely limp on her shoulders it looked as if her neck would sever any moment. The priest spoke first.

"Rebecca I'm sorry about your brother, he was a truly good man and a capable priest."

"Some say it was an act of god. You know people said that to me. That he turned his back on the church."

"No one can speak for God."

"I think it was an act of weather. The rain did it."

"It may have played a factor, but rain does not kill."

"Rain hasn't touched me in a while and I'm just fine."

"Rain touched your brother often, and he only just left us."

She was stoic and fierce. The priest adjusted his seating to face her. She did not match his gaze, though you couldn't tell because the olive green brim of her hat concealed most of her face anyway.

"Rebecca, your brother didn't leave you because he chose to. Your blame doesn't lie with the rain. Fighting the weather is futile and misplaced. You are in the house of God, you are his child. Any rain that falls in here is blessed and sacred. And you share it only with God and I."

Rebecca remained motionless for many more moments. The priest sat patiently, one hand resting in his lap and another on her back. Finally, after an eternity of minutes condensed into one, she looked forward and lifted her hand to her hat, pulling it off gracelessly. It fell to the church floor lightly and without offense. She buried her face in the priest's robes and clutched them tightly. He hugged her gently and closed his eyes. Then for Rebecca the rain came. And it continued to come. It came and went with the winds, as most things do, with the ebb and flow of the spirits. The rain would soak her through and through, and she would return to her normal dry self and repeat with gusto. As the rain came, her hat became less special to her. As all hats do. And order was returned to the hat community as they had once again been reduced to ordinary.

Rain poured down in droves. Rebecca smiled.