If I did right to leave you alone.
I don’t often think you’re a bastard, Father,
But sometimes that notion feels harder to smother—
Maybe you left, with vision grown clearer,
Than a wife and child who waited near.
And I don’t often see myself lost or gone,
I wear a good smile, speak soft and strong.
But sometimes I fear, as life unwinds,
I’m the son repeating his father’s binds.
In the quiet of night, when the stars grow pale,
When the echoes of laughter start to fail,
I wonder, Mother, could it be true,
That a wandering heart comes back to you?
And Father, wherever you rest or roam,
Do you see me standing here alone?
A lad grown older, yet still in chase—
Walking the path you chose to trace.
43
Gypsy
Ijolt awake to a sound that thrums through me—a deep, haunting call that could only belong to that beast of a whale. My eyes fly open, and before I can even draw a breath, the ship shudders violently beneath me, creaking like it’s about to split apart. The planks tremble under me, rattling everything down to the nails. A sharp crack cuts through the air, followed by a crash somewhere in the hull.
And then… nothing. Just an unsettling, hollow silence.
I don’t waste a heartbeat. I pull at the lines of my hammock, my fingers quick as I untie myself and swing to my feet, trying to steady myself on the boards, strewn with tangled limbs and puddles of seawater.
Before the others can even grunt themselves awake, I’m already heading up the ladder.
My heart thumps in my chest as the damp air of the crew quarters gives way to the sharp bite of the ocean breeze near the hatch. I haul myself up, and the deck sprawls before me, wood bent in more places than I can count, with pools of water reflecting the darkening sky.
It’s evening already.
The sun’s slipping down, splashing pink clouds across the horizon, while a thick mist hangs over the waters, casting everything in a silver-pink glow. If I didn’t think this might be the last sight I’d see before something swallows me whole, I might appreciate its beauty.
But no. I can’t stop and stare when bile rises in my throat from sheer fear of the beast that’s been pulling us for an entire day.Where is it?The thought of it lurking out there, hidden in the fog, makes my blood run cold.
I scan the water, bracing for the worst. But as I make my way toward the bow, where most of the ropes had been fastened, I see them now hanging loose.
I barely breathe, squinting into the mist, searching for any ripple or shadow that might betray its presence. But the water is calm, soft waves moving in the sea, too weak to even sway our ship.
That thing is gone.
