Fate of the Black March
Published by David Willoughby at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 David Willoughby
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A small candle flickered meekly in the oppressive dark of the reigning night sky. It hardly bothered to illuminate much of the ship’s deck as I sat, hunched against the wind, on the bow. The waves grasped at the hull of the ship as it floated amidst the teaming nightmares baying in the dark. The ship creaked silently as the masts groaned in the hurried winds of the cold black air. Salt spray spat up from the bow of the ship as I lay my leg over the post rail. My hand cradled the candles base gently as I held it steady in the rocking waves. The tortured creaks of the hull belonged to the Black March, the last vessel of Commodore Mackett's cursed fleet. This wretched vessel now sails empty except for my lone candle and I. My blood soaked boots hang heavy over the bow of the ship. I feel the thing crawling slowly and torturously under my skin. I only wish that I might finish my story before the creeping darkness drags my wretched corpse to hell, least I am already there damned to ride the bow of the Black March for all of eternity. Everything leading up to our sail out of Tortuga is worthless prologue. I will start there.