Gasp! I struggle to catch my breath as I am tossed around the raft, gripping whatever sturdy object is closest. Where am I? Why am I here? Who are these people? My head is throbbing and my arms are cramping. My throat feels like sandpaper and my stomach is twisting with agony. My chest feels like it’s been repeatedly hit with a blunt object. My hands are calloused over and my limbs are lacerated beyond recognition. Suddenly, my memory comes back like a wave washing over the raft. This is my crew. I am their captain. Our ship was attacked by a beast of great stature. She attacked our ship with unfathomable animosity. There was something awfully peculiar about this beast. Even the old pirates’ tales I heard as youth could not describe something of this nature. This beast was something unimaginable. Coming back to reality, I realize that I had let go of the raft’s mast and been hurled into the air by a large wave. I put my hands out as I fall back down, trying to catch myself. Then everything stopped.

I wake up with a splitting headache. Right then, I start to feel dizzy, my stomach tightens, I start to panic and vomit over the edge of the raft. I wipe my mouth and look around. Oh God! I wasn’t dreaming. This is real. The air was filled with death and despair. I look around at the pile of diseased, decrepit survivors surrounding me. A sudden wave of relief washes over me. My crew is still here. I thought for sure that monster would have wiped us out. Somehow we managed to gather a generous amount of our crew. I remember, vividly, the moment we lost our ship. The monstrous demon, as tall as five ships, rose from the depths of the Caribbean. Its tentacles were titanic and wrapped around our ship like eight boa constrictors. The teeth...there were so many. They were like a million sharks, swimming in circles around its black abyss of a mouth. But, this wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was before the destruction. The sudden silence and stillness of the water. There’s nothing more frightening than being able to hear your own breathing while aboard a pirate ship. Then it happened. Our ship was attacked, and within a matter of minutes, reduced to a small raft with a sail. Coming back to the present, I look around for my captain. I get a glimpse of him sprawled out over the legs of our cook, lying unconscious. He looks as though he were subjected to an eternal flogging. I hope he’s alive. I don’t feel well. My vision fades to black and I drift off.

I don’t remember what happened. All I know is we were warned. Before we left the port of Chile, I specifically remember an old fortune teller. She had tried to warn us of the torment, arriving in our near future. She mentioned something about steering clear of “the triangle.” I think she may have been talking about the old stories of the Bermuda Triangle. Many sailors have told stories about it, but no one knew its fog. Our captain didn’t take the old woman seriously, and we paid dearly for it. If only he were wiser. Maybe, if we had steered clear of the Triangle, he would still be among us. Luckily, we made it to an island before we were all wiped out. The village is prospering, and our hope is restored. Our days as pirates are long gone, and we have found our home on land. I just wish the captain were here to see it.