FINAL VOYAGE

a Spiritual Journey Short Story by A.E. Jackson

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The phrase "red sky at morning, sailor take warning" echoed through his mind as the sun rose on the horizon. The thick planks of the deck were cool to the touch. He pressed both palms flat on the surface of the ship and pressed. Now, on hands and knees, he swooned. Or was that the swaying of the ship? He placed his right hand on his upturned right knee, and stood. Light washed over him. Warmth too. And dizziness. He reached for the rigging and caught the thick hemp rope before another wave of nausea, or the sea, could capsize him.

North. South. East. West. Which direction was he facing now? He was uncertain. But he was also unclear on his precise location. He dove into the blackness of his mind. He tried to recall something, anything, that might help. Deeper. Up. Down. Left. Right. He was as lost in his head as he was in this place. Where was he? The sun looked like the sun. The horizon, that unreachable edge of the world, thread thin. The crystal sea reflected glints of light into his eyes. It was all so familiar. Yet.

The ship's compass. He turned and crossed the few steps to the captain's quarters. His hand reached out and grasped the brass knob. An image flashed before his eyes. Grey steel. Rivets. A bulkhead. A cold handwheel replaced the polished brass knob in his palm. That wasn't right. He blinked. The wooden door and brass knob returned. A seagull cried out with joyous glee. He turned to look as the bird dove toward Neptune's dome. It's wings were pinched back, held tight to the feathered thorax. The motion was flawless, majestic, awe inspiring. Then it crashed through the water and dissapeared. He released the doorknob and sprang to the starboard taffrail of the vessesl.

The bird never surfaced. He watched for what felt like a long time. He scanned the unbroken surface. Not a ripple. Not a feather. Not a trace of his one visitor. Then he noticed something else. In all the time he waited and watched for the little bird to return, the sun had not moved. It was still unclear if the red sky, which filled the horizon, welcomed a new day or would soon deepen to purple. Then black. He hoped for flecks of silver stars. And in the same instant he hoped to spot a dolphin breaking the surface to greet the day.

And one did. At first, the jet of water and air starled him. Then excitement flooded his veins. He pivoted and ran to the port taffrail. Two more expulsions greeted him, follwed by an entire pod bobbing and diving beside the small boat. He must be in Mexico. The warm waters of the Sea of Cortez. He glanced around for the sardine fishermen gathering bait for the tourists. But his was the sole sail to score the sky. Not one other boat floated on the gigantic sea around him. He sprinted to the companionway and leapt it two steps at a time. On the upper deck he looked at the trail of churned glowing wake. The ship's bow pointed into the light. But her stern pointed toward a backdrop of darkest night. Stars littered the sea and sky.

"Welcome home son," a father's voice said.

T H E E N D

In honor, and memory, of my late father

Earl Kenneth Jackson

(January 11, 1956 - December 15, 2018)

© 2019, A.E. Jackson. All rights reserved.

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