I got in my wooden sailboat with nothing but a plain shirt, worn-out pants and a hungry heart. The townsfolk tried changing my mind but every time I looked in a mirror I would see my blue eyes and they would remind me of the sea. It was my father’s fault. Before he died, when I was a child, he would read me books about the country’s mythical creatures. My mother, thankfully, understood the extreme itch because she herself had sailed before when she was younger. The only advice she gave me was to never forget that she would always wait for me in our home if things ever went south.
The seagulls were squawking. My stomach was rumbling. I looked back and noticed the town was not visible anymore. I then dipped my hand and felt the cold water and looked at my reflection. It was a reflection of a face that was filled with hope and a reflection of a face that was filled with the supernatural. I said the supernatural because another reflection emerged. A reflection that literally hurled me out of my seat. He was sitting across from me, dressed in his typical business attire. My chest tightened. Tears began running down my face when I uttered:
I looked around and noticed that I was already surrounded by hundreds of rundown sailboats. They were all filled with corpses that were draped in seaweed.
“You will join them if you keep it up,” he said.
“Are you real?”
“Turn this boat around.”
“You will die.”
“But aren’t I going to die as well when I go back?”
A smile came out of him.
“At least tell me you know how to fish,” he said. “It’s still a long way to your destination.”
“I know how to fish,” I said. “Mom gave me the rod she used before.”
I turned around to pick up the rod, then turned around again and discovered that he was gone for good. Gone with the dead people with dead dreams.