It was beautiful; there was no doubt about that. Ironic really, he’d never have thought his death would be pretty. Or heroic, for that matter. He sighed, clear blue eyes mournful as a breeze brushed past him, idly stirring his short iron grey beard for what felt like the last time.
The interplay of powerful cosmic forces danced across the sky, explosions of violet against a lighter lilac, as he watched from the deck of his slowly sinking ship. The dark timber of the wharf a short distance away, gleamed in the fading light. He shook his head, thinking of the various predictions of the apocalypse, of the Last Days. In the end, no one had been right. It really was quite pleasant.
Something lapped gently at his feet and he glanced down, surprised. He calmed, when he saw the pool of red drenching his boots. For a moment there, he’d thought the waters were claiming him. He stepped out of it, noting that the increasing tilt of the ship had brought the lifeblood of his first mate coursing down toward him. The body itself was still sprawled at the aft, jammed against something. It was a good thing that the rest of the crew had been below deck, he thought, it saved him quite a deal of trouble. At least they weren’t bleeding all over him.
It was a shame really, that they hadn’t understood. It would have been much easier that way. As it was, their throats sported similar smiles to the first mate. He was glad, that in death at last, they had something to be happy about. It just wouldn’t have been right for them all to go down with the ship; that would hardly be a heroic end for him now, would it? No, only the captain went down with the vessel. 'Twas was a fitting end.
He chuckled ruefully as he remembered something his father had once said to him:
"The first thing a principle does is kill somebody.”
