The Howling Infinite

There weren’t always dragons in the valley of my mind, yet destiny is not always so apparent, before the future presents itself, we can only toil in the unknowing darkness of the present. – Starbuck

In a sea of black nothingness, a spark of white light glimmered in the shadow of death, a glint of life. The young man’s eye was encapsulated with this tiny dot that shrunk in light of his bright brown iris. In its microcosm, a macrocosm of joy and dread swelled in the nostalgic eye of the beholder, he could see great titan towers that scraped the dark black sky while light white rain showered in all its truth and deceit. Twas the state of his reality in those young blissful days of childhood, the world was painted in bright wonder and innocent purity, the sweet soothing tongue of his mother told him joyous songs of goodness and kindness in men, despite having bore a child that had lived for a thousand millennia, the father above still looked at his creation below with eyes of love. He would guide mankind and no matter how far he ran in the distant fields of earth, or the infinite reaches of the cosmos, heaven would always open its gate to those faithful few that still upheld his will.

Such a man was the reminiscing eye’s father, he was a loyal man, wistful and sharp, he feared not in face of evil, his stature was as upright as his soul. Till his death, he would stand by his virtues, by the will of God, come highs or deep descents into the eternal blue. This day, under the rainy dark of the floating city, a wee lad would stump his foot into the smattering puddles of the grimy streets, he’d run swift with glee, his heart beating with anticipation, this day, under the glass city drifting in black infinite, the young man of old would finally lunge into the arms of his father, reuniting with him after the deceptions of eternity. This day, under the invisible dome of man’s furthest dominion, the rains of deceit would cease, as the flood of truth would drown the boy in the face of mankind’s true race, no matter how far in existence …………. all men would feel the curse of eve’s fall.

The dream ceased quick and the truth hit like a train unstoppable in it’s pain, the thin red line held the city up like a stem, within its cores, a mother and a son sat impatient with excitement, the warm touch of his doorway to this world burned comfort into the boy as he gripped his mother’s hand tight, with both eyes glued on the aisle of arrivals, hearts danced as feet stumped the floor, heaven exploding at the sight of hell’s survivors. The whaling men had returned, and the brown iris scanned manically in search of the giver of its name, face after face, they all looked the same, grazed but not erased, they’d only just escaped. The conclusion was nil and worry begun to set in as the walls of childhood bliss begun to crack, tired of waiting, action was taken as the mother took charge, charging for the broken men, her questions led her to a solemn figure trapped in deep thought, he wandered from his crucible family forever an outcast just like his name.

‘’The Pequod, will it be arriving soon?’’

An absent eye stared down the present mother, her mind already knew, but her heart refused to yield, the tears were reined back with a loosening grip, a blink, then a frown, then the face she dreaded the most, her drown commencing.

‘’I’m sorry- ‘’

‘’No, no, please no, don’t say it, my sweet love, where is he.’’

The frown bowed in defeat, the mouth refused to speak those painful words of truth. She bargained with God

‘’I’m his wife, Mary and this is his son, where is Mr. Starbuck, where is my husband!’’

A single tear ran down the reminiscing eye’s cheek. This day, under the chains of entropy, struck by that inescapable arrow of time, the young man drowned in the sea of his purpose, the genesis of his fire, a flame that consumed him whole, there was only one path to peace, and it lay in war. The first casualty flowed across the cheeks of his mourning mother as she unrestrained that flood of loss. Not even truth would comfort her, instead, she was slain by its indifference as it spewed out of the lone messenger’s mouth.

‘’I was the sole survivor, I’m sorry Mrs. Starbuck, truly.’’

Truly, he was sorry, but regardless of his sweet coatings, regardless of his wailing heart, regardless of that sinking void that closed in within, the pain arose, and it froze the mother in sorrowful ice, her void would be much deeper than he could ever know, than he could ever fill or feel. Innocent eyes stared back as the wee lad looked in confusion, his mother sinking to her knees the weight of her broken heart dragging her to hell. It dragged her to those bristling hot blazes that ruled the very captain of her lover’s demise, desire was groomed, peace was unveiled, and it lay in the face of war. It was the worst kind of chain, it was the burden of burdens, in order to partake on this journey, two graves would have to be dug, one for flesh, the other for soul, the very foe was a reflection in a mirror, but that inflection would only reveal itself when it was too late, he would know, the one that now drowns in the deadness of space, his crew fallen, all in pursuit of mad retribution, there, he floats in his grave, alongside her lover, yet another tale beginning as the same god be praised.

The boy wanted to know, how did it come to this, how could the world be so cruel, how could the face of man be so ugly

‘’How did my father die’’

The messenger’s eyes spelled pity, the story of his death, was a story that begun even further than that, it was a story that would be echoed in the not so distant future, it was a story that a young man finished as he clasped the book closed, his fingers sifting across the title of Moby Dick, the story of Mad Ahab and how he killed the young man’s father alongside all the crew of the Pequod. The White Whale was merely a bullet to that damned captain’s trigger. Ishmael had done his best, this was the confession and the young man wished he’d never heard it. Years had passed now, he was nae so wee, his figure had only just entered it’s peak, tall and strong with noble shoulders, his fresh face deeply brown and burnt even in the absence of sun, the son still lingered in his childhood, some things just never die.

So was that fire, and in the final chapters of the Pequod’s demise, the flame of his mother invigorated in his rage, the same seed of desire eclipsed him, damnings would not be enough, the only price was blood, and his lust could not be quenched. Enter war, but too enters the impossible, the mad captain was dead and buried, time and space would have to be slain in order for such a sight to see. That red, would not be read, the eternal arrow would not be stopped, a new avatar needed to absorb this most devilish of desires, it would be just as white as the moon that shined above, but so to would it be farcical, an artificial construction, no matter how detailed and realized it felt, man’s magical technologies could not trump the thumbs of God, so too was this rage for the beast, an illusion, no, a delusion.

But for everything there is a beginning, a first time, it came when the boy sat on the very edge of the world. High upon the hills of concrete those innocent eyes looked into the black of space, he saw through the invisible barrier, and he hoped for his father’s face, once he saw the ships, grand and wide glistening with the glory of mankind, the boy stared harder, eyes squinting with an ear to ear grin, he searched for a speck among giants, a remarkably small and ornate ship fashioned like the ships of old, those wooden titans that sailed the seven seas of mankind’s cradle, now, after infinite epochs, it’s adventurous spirit lived on in the Pequod. It too harrowed unforgivable seas, but these held no water, in fact, they held nothing, it was the very embodiment of death, black and soulless, yet beautiful and enchanting as the boy stared on with ambition, one day he would sail these dead seas with his father.

But his father wouldn’t let that happen, in those pages of confession, the musket was read, the mad captain laid asleep, defenseless as a child, yet a flood of blood stayed suspended in the looming future, soon to be unleashed, all this could be stopped at the pull of the trigger, the firing of the musket, his father held it, breaths from the mad doom, a single boom and father and son would write a new book, the story that was never told as the musket was sheathed, his father didn’t do it, he couldn’t do it. Devotion to God, or the cowardice of the devil, black and white, none of it mattered, the captain lived, he chained them all to his mortal fate.

Now the boy looked at that dark space, and he wondered, could he have done it, if he held that sword, would he swing, would he have the courage, lack the fear, embrace that thundering storm upon the rumbling waters of azure. Destiny would be changed, order retained in the firing of chaos. God’s judgement would loom, and the boy would speak back incanting his very Kingdom, can heaven be a murderer when it’s lighting strikes a would-be murderer, the boy would merely be the thunder to Zeus’ bolt, the bullet to the trigger of righteousness.

His father uttered the same words, but he didn’t have the will to act, was this the same for the boy, maybe he never had a choice, he could speak words now, but time could not be turned, his heart declared courage, but without trail, it was as empty as the space he looked upon. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, the sins of the father now haunted the boy as he spent his whole life proving to the world, to himself, he was no coward, he had the will, he was Prometheus, he was Hercules, he was Bulkington.

The question had been raised by Peleg, captain of the Pequod. Even in its death, the ship’s name lived on, forever immortalized by its sole survivor’s scribblings. But an omen of death, that title was, how could one sail in something destined to die, chaining themselves to the very fates that plunged it afore.

‘’Ships have no souls boy, nothing’s coming to haunt you’’

But his father’s name would, his sin, or lack thereof, that shadow had to be purged, and in its death, a new name arose, burning as bright as the phoenix, a new destiny revealed, twisted in the strings of old.

‘’Why that name?’’

‘’But as in landlessness alone resides highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God – so better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety!’’

The boy abridged.

‘’I will have no fear, glory over death, call me Bulkington’’

So it was so, Bulkington now sailed the endless black without his father, he walked in his shoes, a member of Peleg’s Pequod, and just like the tree, the apple hunted whales. The ship blasted off, leaving Melville Station, the only place the boy ever knew, tomorrow however, presented new sights, the very cosmos itself, and soon, not even time would bind him. The floating city drifted further and further away, becoming nothing more than a mere spark of white, within the boundless background of black.

Even in distance, reminiscence held him in its sombre incense. Alone in his room, he packed the book zipping his bag, up straight he stood, the satchel hanging over his shoulder as like a soldier he prepared to go to his war, he wouldn’t grace this room for years to come, but nothing would stop him, his destiny awaited and he wouldn’t be late, the door shut and the boy etched closer to fate, but in the cold dark living room sat his mother, and she was a sight he’d seen before at that very genesis of the fire within.

‘’So, what’s your story, what’s gotcha chasing dragons?’’

Pippen posed the question, the smoke spurring from his pipe, he was a lover of the antique and his ship of service complimented it. The truth would not be availed, at least not in it’s true form, the footsteps of his father was his excuse, it served him well.

‘’Lotta folks are tryna kill Moby Dick, damn whale’s got a bullseye on its tail. It’s also got a ton of fools after it, at least your screws aren’t loose.’’

Before Ishmael, it was a sailor’s tale, after him, the entire cosmos knew of this myth in the flesh.

‘’Are you after him?’’

‘’God no, I’m after money, a sane man I am. A single whale’s heart can power old Melville Station till eternity, a whole entire glass city, think about how much it’s gon fetch.’’

‘’You ever faced one before?’’

‘’More like survived, damn beasts are the size of planets, they can breathe fire like a dragon, they can summon it too, a whole storm of flaming lighting and thunder. Their gods to men and Moby Dick, his their king of kings.’’

There was no greater test, no mightier foe and no superior mystery, whale dragons where humanity’s unanswered question, god’s remainder that none could ever fathom the might of his creation. Hailing from the Lethen Sweep, an unsurmountable horde of mystery awaited, a question marked frontier that none could ever answer, for dead men tell no tales. So, in sight of such leviathans, lunacy was barely applicable to the madness of that captain who dared to pursue the white whale, it was a beast as vast as space, utterly indifferent to the opinion of such an ant, all the way to his very demise. This wasn’t a cautionary tale, this was a suicide note and Bulkington picked up the pen as he begun to write it, simply because he dared to dare.

In that dark living room, his mother shed more tears, a flood big enough to feel the black expanse, her deep void sunk deeper as her son prepared to depart in pursuit of folly. She held onto him in his march, crying in his arms as she begged sense into his burning heart.

‘’Your father left me, don’t leave me too, please!’’

He promised safety, things would be different, he would survive, insanity had set in, wishing for different results yet taking the exact same routes. She held him tight, refusing to let go, a mother, desperate to save her son. But anger, fear, restlessness, naivety and the shadow of death, spices and spells in the kitchen of hell, Bulkington pushed her away from him, leaving his home as his mother wailed for all the world to see, to hear.

In a sea of black nothingness, a spark of white light glimmers in the shadow of death, a glint of life. An ode to his destiny, Bulkington now sails the dead seas aboard the Pequod, chasing vengeance, hoping to one day kill Moby Dick.

Bulkington will return……………………………