The Celeste

The Celeste: Smoke on the Water

The wintery and lucid fog rolled out across the horizon as a war fleet heads out across the raging seas, but the Celeste isn’t associated to the unlikely vermin.  She speeds heroically away from the hellish fleet, but is halted at the edge of the bay; a gateway from under the shadow of her oppression. The National Guard venomously asks for the hand of the beautiful Celeste for the war, intending to ravage and use her. The crew selfishly refuses to allow such assimilation; strategic value is mere vanity in their eyes.

Grabbing the radio and declaring, “Why should we hand over that which is rightfully ours to benefit a meaningless war some degenerate bastard in Washington has wrought upon us?” as a single warning is fired rapidly at a nearby Destroyer.    

“It’s for the public good! The innocent masses must be kept safe and secure! Nevertheless, such inquisitive about the ethical positions of our democratically elected leaders is treasonous and deplorable!” arrives a snappy response from a morally castrated officer, “Simply, democracy is as it chooses; the place of the citizen is neither in the house of doubt, nor in the place of such accusatory positioning”

Understanding that a military man, who has spent his life mindlessly worshipping chains, will not listen to the reasons of a common lowlife sea captain and to defend sacred justice issues commands; subjugation is not for this day.  She brings the Law of gods and men upon their frothy bows. Clarity of destiny breaks through as the fated crew springs into action, launching magnificent birds into the sky while hailing the National Guard with a barrage of lead needles. Air reinforcements arrive from a nearby military base like demons of subterranean origin as the Celeste swims towards the gaping mouth of the bay; for only there does salvation from enemies lie, a lonesome hope for humanity. Half a dozen ships lie between the two souls as the clock is ticks towards the oncoming oblivion.

Suddenly on the radio, a victorious voice cries out, “The way is cleared, full speed ahead.” In the fog, local watermen formed a final coalition to work for the endless goal of sabotaging the plans of the Government. Four of six ships are slain by glorious explosives laid in the very heart of the destructive ones. A final breath and the Celeste sends a ship to the Abyss. Meanwhile a gunned down air force pilot careens to an untimely demise inside the final blockade ship. Pulling out of the bay and into open water, the hum of the remaining planes fades into the distance as the sun grows low in the sky. One by one the fighters return to the ship as their wounds stack up. The crew checks their many precious passengers, their final prayers for righteousness. Backwards lays a war fleet still giving chase, waiting for the hunt to renew in vigor. The fallen fleet has halted their commanded progression for a mere hour at the very least. A mournful song issues forth from a single small child as she watches the waves dance rhythmically upon a sea of glass. All wits are rattled and confined to their own labyrinths of pain and worry. A blackhearted cry from undesirables deemed false by arbitrary aims for the sake of peoples unrelated. The stability of solid firmaments is passed for the virtue of opportunity. Behind the veil of the deep a danger lies hidden. Slowly, the nuclear threat sinks its fangs into the hull of Celeste, her skin torn by its passionate fires. Crippled and stricken she lays overcome and sunk all along; time and space relent for the procession of angels from her lofty ideals. The mandate of heaven passes as the cycle of eternity is broken. Shattered now is the icy mirror of tradition under the weight of this clairvoyant disease. Peace restored, the people served, hail victors! These are the days the soul of man is conquered and freedom from dreams is the gift for all.

The officer watches salvage crews take back precious metals from the wreckage. No sign could be allowed to be found of the tragedy for the sake of national security. Imagine if the country knew of the military’s actions here, a sinister spark of hope could be lit by the knowledge of these drowned villains. Antisocials, a plague upon the earth, they deserve it all for their dissent. There is no need for warmongers or malcontents in the modern age. The poets will be silenced forever this time. The pendulum of the power structure stopped to ensure peace. Their stories must be washed away. The officer ponders this for there is no rationalization for the things that cannot be justified. Not that it matters, a hamegin of such insignificance is a mere pawn in the game. Nothing could be changed for in this world beyond good and evil; people always kiss that which drags them further into the abyss.

Now a ghost in the face of history, the remains of the Celeste sinks into the blue. She lies without her identity in the depths of Atlantis, surrounded by the beings that call it their home. In her belly remain the bodies of those precious in this world; forever together in paradise.

Understanding the mission objective to be lost, the dutiful fleet headed to the charred remains of their brethren. A light film coated the water from the soot and oil of the ships that once battled here. A new goal is brought to the table, a final retribution for justice; the blindfolds revealed and the scale tilted to the favor of the glorious victors.  Decidedly, vengeance would be wreaked upon the unholy rebels; deprived of their bildungsroman forever.  The scum of the earth, traitors, tax evaders, and cop killers, are all a cancer to society and they are the harbingers of death. Efforts are raised for the surviving fleetsmen to assist in the capturing of the fugitives. The media declares an ongoing search for domestic terrorists as the military police begin knocking down doors one at a time. None are spared. Dissenters are shot. Walls are built; a quarantine of hatred and violence. Across the country, the railroads long predicted to return begin to purr to life.