Soap Scum and Brine (Part 4)

The speed of the wave and the spray coming from it was blinding him, and he could barely see. Behind them the giant infant moved further and further away, and in front of them they destroyed the peace and calm of more and more blank ocean. It was a bizarre experience, moving so fast, holding on so tight, and knowing that certain death waited when the wave inevitably crashed down. The Captain contemplated his whole life and his decisions up until now, and he thought…

Not actually though, he simply pulled out a hip flask and took one last long drink of his favourite rum, belched appreciatively and tossed the empty container over board. He turned, wobbled slightly and almost slipped on his peg leg on the soaking wet deck, and then gripped the railing tightly again and began to address the remnants of his crew. Shouting loud over the roar of the wind and the wave, he talked properly for the first time in years. He tended to lose his cliché pirate accent when he was in a sombre mood.

“Men! We are probably dead. If we are lucky we might survive the wave crashing, but after that we’ll be stranded in the middle of this miserable, godforsaken ocean. I just wanted to say that you’ve all been a pack of sissy’s and good riddance to the lot of you.”

To the credit of the men left clutching to anything they could hold onto on the deck for dear life, they all laughed. Maybe they had all lost their minds, either way it’s not so bad to die laughing.
“Same to you Cap’n!” One of them called back. The Captain laughed, pirate once again.
“Ye little piece of soap scum, when we get to Davey Jones’ locker, yer walking the plank!”

If the Locker has planks… he thought to himself. If it doesn’t, I’ll keelhaul him, or hang him, or quarter him, I’ll find a way. He was still pondering how to kill a man twice when he looked in front of him. Surely his eyes were playing tricks on him. Before them stood a wall, as incredibly tall and wide as the giant infant, stretching upwards as far as he could see, and to the left and right to the ends of the horizon.

It was sort of white, and it was probably once the brilliant white of pearls, but now it was coated with grime. Limpets and shells stood on the face of the wall like pimples, and he could see tiny cracks in it where birds probably nested. All across the face of it, he could see the remains of soap, dried into dirty scum, and the briny water and air had turned it closer to the dirty grey colour of storm clouds, rather than the brilliant white of bone.

Maybe death was sooner than he thought; they were going to hit this wall. He had no illusions that they would break through it, the decay and life encrusted on it make it seem stronger and older than the ocean itself, and he also had no illusions that it was a hallucination. The Captain was a smart man but his imagination wasn’t so good to imagine so much detail so quickly. If it was he would have been an author or a painter, or something that didn’t involve giant monster babies and impossibly tall walls to get crushed against.

He was annoyed, he didn’t even have time to pick a god to pray to in the hopes that he might not end up in hell for the deeds he had performed throughout his colourful life. The incredible spectacle of the wall became more and more awe inspiring as they moved closer and closer to it at an alarming speed. It was especially amazing right before they hit it. He could swear he saw a baby seagull peek its head out of a tiny crack to hear what the racket was. The Captain probably should have had his eyes closed or been running to the back of the boat, or jumping overboard, anything else really… but he was quite fearless and a little drunk at this point.

The wave hit the wall with an incredible sound that never mind shaking the earth, probably shook the sky and the stars too. The pure white foam of the surging surf struck the briny grey structure with such force that even more cracks spread across the face of it, almost as if it was alive and grimacing with pain. What little remained of the trusty old Swordfish was smashed into tiny pieces and scattered across the sea.

All The Captain knew was a bone crushing impact that pushed all the air from his lungs and probably did crush a few bones too. Then he was submerged in a swirling and surging tempest of water, foam and debris. He opened his one eye and the salt and water burned it, but he paid it no heed. He flailed around, the surging currents pushing him here and there, but never to the surface. He didn’t know which way was up, around him he saw what remained of his boat and crew being pulled by the rushing tide and being ripped into pieces. He wasn't sure if he was lucky or not to some how escape this.

His brain began to scream for air and he tried to stay calm, but he couldn’t help flailing wildly, trying to find the surface before he died in a watery grave. His determination not to die, not after making it this far and surviving this long, spurred him onwards. His hook cut through the water in front of his squinted eyes, his one hand flailing beside it.

His wooden leg was like a deadweight, dragging him down. His brain and lungs were basically down on their metaphorical hands and knees begging that he get fresh air, that he at least breathe! Even if it was just water he inhaled. It felt like it was time to give up, when the surging currents left behind by the wave hurled the well endowed mermaid that fronted the ship, and indeed basically what was left of the front of the ship, towards him. Her lips hit him smack in the forehead, as if kissing him goodbye, and then everything went black.

But it wasn't over yet, and The Captain would start to wonder if he just happened to be immortal...