Of galaxy depth is this astral ocean and axiom sailed.
Connoisseurs of corpses, moaning weeping at the helm.
Putrid galley chopping blocks, stacked with turned meat of the profane of soul.
Sleep walkers without feet or aim, sucking upon the unknowing.
Rappelling up the stern from the nethers, his long blade held in a clutch at the first reached spectres vertebrae.
A ghost ship commandeered by a mortal, 'servitude or death' he says to the ghostly crew.
Grabbing one by the rib cage and separating spine with a swift heel.
Let that be an example.
Reluctant agreeance overtook them.
Exiled to the foggy reached of emptiness, annexed to self sacrifice.
He takes a map of skin from his breast coat pocket and opens it in front of the helmsman.
With dagger to throat, 'go here' he ordered, not asked, pointing to a distant island on the souvenir of skin.
'Once the bargain is fulfilled the crew shall be released', he said loudly to the crew
Until then, the undead crew were enslaved under his command for the vile deeds of ceaseless assault of the innocent.
They must take him wherever he wishes or suffer pain worse than death.
They must follow on the endless waves as the young mortal chases his far away sad dream.
© Sebastian Grey