He sat down recounting the events of the night before. A night he could not even believe with such an unfortunate end that even he still stood shocked as no man would believe the things that he had lived through. His pale white skin looking like transparent sheets on top of the bone that held him together. All he could do was shiver at the thought of the wreckage that lay before him. Where he was? He did not know but he could remember them, the thoughts that filled his head that night.
He had come from Europe picking up shipment from the Caribbean with promises of spices, bootleg alcohol, and equipment that seemed to fit the needs of a fisherman. His great grandfather had been a mover of sorts, a personal voyager ever since he had made the boat from the fallen oak tree that had been struck by lightning. It was salvaged by the rain and durable enough to carve out the Atlantica. That is what his great grandfather called it although to him, it was the Marina.
He had decided to set sail and head to what is known as Florida but he was running behind on schedule. He had intended to reach it a couple days ago but the crew just had to swash buckle their way through the taverns and maidens who became introduced to them. If he could transport everything on his own he would but the need for a crew made him stay. He was not strong enough to command and they were not the smartest of the bunch but their brawn was enough to go on.
Instead he was thinking about crossing the dreaded triangle. The three points every voyager knows not to cross, the Bermuda Triangle. The crew advised against it saying those who entered never came out. The tales of women, mermaids, sirens of the sea beckoned their vessels into coming to the end. He had enough he steered the ship and entered without warning, the crew in utter fear for the madness to come.
He heard them straight through the mist. The voices trailed through like waves of the ocean crashing to his ears. They sang the fearful tune
Walk through the gates of the darkest seas
Enter the realm of the forbidden fruit
Women of the unnatural and forgotten breeze
Sick of this voyage follow our voice let go of the brute
Become ours to entice and forget the reason
As he went through he felt it the agonizing deaths of those who had advised him not to go. Their screaming bleeding them dry to their ends as the unnatural women took the remains to the depths.
He sat alone remembering the slaughters, the deaths of his fallen crew. All he could do was become lost in the seas that once called his name. The perils that called to him so enticingly had now endangered him. His wish had been granted, his voyage was over and the crew was all gone. Their blood stained the sands of his wreckage. His vessel was gone. His journey was over.
The conception of the “Voyage of the Bermuda” came from reading the “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” for the purpose. I however took a different approach to writing it and rather than create an epic poem from it wrote it out as a story. I wanted to play with the form instead and parody how the two actually can contain the same message no matter the form. As they both seem to tell the same unfortunate tale of a sailor being left behind to warn those others who seem to be heading down the same path they are. It appreciates nature and romanticizes the seas as something that is beautiful to watch. Nature however when not give the right appreciation and ends up turning on humanity. It is dangerous and the wraths that come from it are understandable because people will take it for granted.
The ideas of madness are touched upon here but not fully explored as the reader knows that the captain is left alone and shipwrecked. It drastically leaves him altered in perspectives and it also makes him remember that inadvertedly this was his fault because he blamed his crew and he also did not care to listen to them when they warned him no to go. It shows the consequences of what could happen if people go against their natural nature. Human nature is complicated within itself and the reversal of it makes people think twice about changing who they are.
The change in form does not truly change the message that a story is trying to convey. A poem and a story although do not share the same qualities that tend to send a message, they do end up changing the ways that people perceive things. A poem is structured and has different rules to it depending on the type of poem but a story has little structure. This restraint does not allow the message stop. So keep the message in mind when reading and do not let form stop you.