3.
The old man spoke on.
It was a weary time when our throats were parched and we watched with glazed eyes at the silent sea about us.
Then, in the west I saw a shape: a speck, a distant ship that tacked and veered. Standing there on the sun-baked deck, I watched. I stared. And at last cried, “A sail! A sail!”
My crewmates raised a cry of joy. But as we watched, the ship stopped tacking. And though no tide was turning, the distant ship kept approaching. How could this be so?
And now that ship stood between us and the setting sun. Silhouetted against the blazing light, it was a ghost of a ship: masts and mizzens, spars and booms, sails lying limp. And yet it drew closer.
Was that a woman on the deck? Or no, now were they two — a woman and an other? And now, they drew beside us.
There stood the woman, but what was that other? Oh, it was Death itself! It was Death that walked beside her.
The woman with bright red lips and lifeless skin cast dice on the deck of that ship and then stood. “I’ve won!” she cried.
And in that instant, the sun was gone without so much as a fading of the day. In that instant, we were cast in the darkest night. And then, that ship was gone.
We sailed until the moon came up, under the stars on a silent sea.
And in the dim light, one by one I now watched my crewmates drop. One by one, with a thump they fell lifeless to the deck. And now with the Albatross hanging around my neck, I was the only one standing.