Literature
VII: Half Mast
March
It was unnervingly calm today. Morbid. The water cried softly, as rain shattered the already broken waves of the storming ocean; creating a very sad and dismal feel to the makings of The Pride and Admiralty. They sailed mournfully to the safe harbors of Bartarita Bay, along with them, a fleet of downcast sailors, each with the same false smile and dull eyes.
Jean Laffite had taken to the waist of The Admiralty, sitting in solitude upon a stack of abnormally perched crates, gaze cast to the rippling tide, dark and weary. His russet hair was slick and dripping with rain, clinging to his face, and camouflaging the tears that stained his