[ WP ] Years after all planes and ships are retired due to the perfection of long-distance teleportation , a derelict vessel shows up in what used to be a harbor .

It emerged on the horizon like a decrepit specter, the setting sun accentuating the tired vessel's haggard appearance. Tattered remains of what must have been a flag clung to a frayed rope that climbed the bent mast, whipping wildly in the wind like an dying animal desperately trying to wrench itself free from the jowls of a beast of prey. 
 
 Its hull was a dingy, dirty greenish-grey hue, reminiscent of one's own sick, pocked with barnacles and other sea life. jagged holes had been worn or cut into its sides as well, hanging open like gangrenous wounds that were never given time to heal. Two loading arms, bent and broken, reached out from the port and starboard sides, metal cables dangling from their mutilated frames. The topside cabins had mostly collapsed in on themselves, too worn to hold after whatever trials the poor, wretched ship had endured. 
 
 I watched as the pitiful derelict slowly glide into the bay and towards the shore, taking it upon itself to find its final resting place. As it reached the beach, its bow cutting through the sand like a knife, it let out a sorrowful metallic groan as its hull buckled and shook. Then, in an instant, it fell silent again, as if content with its choice of grave. 
 
 I returned the next day with friends from town, intent to explore the rotting metal corpse that had found its way to our shores. We clambered onto the forlorn ship's deck with the curiosity and eagerness of children, uncertain of what long lost mysteries we were about to discover. 
 
 She was dark, cold, and empty, as most dead things are. It seemed as if the ship's crew had simply elected to leave her to the drift. Cabins were stripped bear with little in the way of personal effects left behind. Tools and other things lay skewed about the deck and cabin floors, things the crew deemed not worth saving. Maps and papers had formed pulpy messes in many places, their secrets washed away by the sea seeping its way in. 
 
 It was not until my friends called to me, fear and surprise in their voices, did I see anything worthy of true notice. I ran to them, and was struck hard with a foul, putrid odor. Upon the ships bridge, at the base of the helm, lay a dead man. We stood frozen, looking into the hollow face, its empty eyes looking, staring back at us in what could almost be silent expectation. he wore a tattered trench coat and overalls, stained brown by bis rotting flesh and insides. On the floor, what had once been a white captain's lay, its brim frayed and broken and its color a ghastly yellow. 
 
 The man's face was like a skull, the rotting flesh hanging off the bone like a mask. his tongue lolled out of his mouth, swollen and red. In his hand was clutched a piece of paper, and after much time taken to steel myself to it, I stepped forward and wrenched the parchment from the dead man's hand. 
 
 `` I committed my soul to the sea, and to the sea I will return,'' it read. `` Perhaps you are content to find your destination in seconds, and if that is such, I truly pity you. The greatest part of any journey is the travel itself. It can forge you into something you never knew could be, prepare you for trails you never knew you'd face. I will brave these seas and welcome the journeys like old friends, even if I must greet them alone. Take to your future if you must as they present it to you, but know that you will never know the freedom I knew, feel the achievement I have. You will never know the thrill of the journey, and for that, I pity you.'' 
 

