He was born with sea legs and called the sea his home. His face, weathered by salt spray, made him look older than he was, and the countless storms he faced wreaked havoc on his body, tossing him around like a ragdoll.
They called him a sea dog, an old salt, and other names all of which were compliments, as they were true. The sea was his home, his lover, and his reason for living. He often heard the mermaids' calls and told himself that someday he’d see one when his time came to be offered to the sea and Davy Jones's Locker, where sailors' tales came to dwell.
His tattoos told his story, each marking representing a chapter of his life, with a girl in every port and a drink in every pub. He didn’t shy away from a good fight, which always ended with a shared drink and a handshake. He was a sailor, a deckhand, a squid; each title was true, and all he ever wanted to be.
On board, he had brothers for life who always had his back, just as he had theirs. They fought side by side until they won their battles, and the calls of victory rang out as the enemy ship sank from sight, destined for the bottom of the sea.
He was a sailor who traversed the seven seas and lived to tell many tales. Some were embellished for entertainment, but most were true. Now, on any given night in a faraway pub, he was just an old salt, his hair turned white and his beard stained with tobacco. His sea legs may be gone, but he was always ready, if called upon, to defend the flag. He was a sailor who navigated the seas with pride and a love he could never replace.
Mike 2025
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