Nick - Overboard

I paced back and forth across my quarters, over and over again. I felt the rocking of the waves, gently bobbing the room and the ship up and down. I heard the faint whistling of the wind pushing vainly against the outside of the ship. I stopped and silently listened to the creaking of ropes and the clomping footsteps of what little of the crew was left at work above deck.

I was getting impatient.

I took my hat off, and placed it on my desk. I admired its grandeur. It was, truly, the perfect hat. And it was all mine. Because I am the captain, and this is the captain's hat.

The door of my room creaks open, and Argyle pokes his head in, his beady little eyes looking frightfully at me.

"You're late," I growl menacingly, "by the number of times I've refilled my lantern, I'd say I sent Gordon to go retrieve you more than two hours ago."

Argyle bobs into the room, Gordon carrying him in, completely off the ground, by the back of his shirt. Gordon drops him on the floor. Argyle says nothing, but he nervously fumbles with some papers as he unfolds them and spreads them out on my desk.

"We are, um, we are short," Argyle mumbles.

Argyle is the chef, and by extension, he is in charge of the storeroom. And he was supposed to give me the summary of the inventory days ago.

"Why are we short, Argyle?" He makes no response; he simply looks down at the floor nervously. "Is it because you've been sneaking food for yourself? Or using more for the crew, against MY ORDERS?"

The echo of my last words ring out in the small room. Still silence.

"Gordon," I say very quietly, "Throw him overboard."

I turn my back. I only hear Argyle's pathetic struggles as Gordon drags him above deck. The noise is brought to a halt by one faint splash punctuating the soft creaking of the ship.

I look to my compass, and see that it has swung from north to east. Why would he have changed direction? Why would he have changed directions when I, the captain, specifically said to head north? I march up to the deck, where Gordon is standing next to One-Eye, the navigator.

"One-Eye!" I shout as I approach the pair, "Why has our course been changed!?"

One-Eye turns his head to me slowly, as if thinking, as he always does. "Feelin' a storm." He says gruffly.

"And why wasn't I consulted!?"

"Didn't see the need," One-Eye responds, constantly in the same bored, uninterested tone.

"You didn't see the need? You didn't see the need to consult me, THE CAPTAIN?"

One-Eye's response is concise. "Eh," he says.

"Gordon," I say very quietly, "Throw him overboard."

Gordon looks at me, and then grabs One-Eye by the back of his shirt and drags him over to the edge of the ship. One-Eye doesn't really resist.

Gordon stands, looking at me. He doesn't move.

"Gordon. What is the hold up?" I say in my most dangerous, scathing tone.

"...He's the last one left."

I stand silently for awhile, looking back and forth at the empty ship.

"How dare you disobey a direct order."

I push Gordon into the water; he tumbles off the side of the ship, One-Eye falling quickly behind him.

I walk back down to my quarters. I pace back and forth, over and over again. I feel the rocking of the waves. I listen to the wind feebly rushing against the outside of the ship. I stop and listen to the complete silence coming from above deck.

I take my hat off and place it on my desk, right next to the compass, the arrow of which is now drifting slowly and aimlessly. Truly, this is the perfect hat. And it is all mine.

Because I am the captain, and this is the captain's hat.

-Nick.