Thirteen

Thirteen warm bodies clad in cool colors sat crossly as the coarse current compelled the wooden planks onward. How far until they feel their lofty dreams can crush their darker fears? When the dark outweighs even the brightest glimmer of hope, how can you hold it steady? Silence passes and muscles relax and expressions grow calmer as the ship pushes on. Twelve go to sleep leaving one at the helm, not for them but for himself he scans the night sky, scant it seems, save for two bright spectacles.

How fitting that in this one evening he finds himself staring at the same stars he never cared to consider. How fitting that this is the night he dies.

Thirteen men on a ship crash into unforseen shores, with light hiding the bluffs by making shadows seem more subdued. Twelve men survive.

But in the end, it was his time.

How touching and fitting, an ending and a beginning. Twelve men stand alone together, unknown and unwitting. A new land awaits them, while they bury their faces in their hands. One last word laid across the man now laying in the ground.

Farewell.

His accolades are acrostic, and in the end, spell out in return, goodnight.