The Wandering Pirate

The Wandering Pirate

The sea had long forgotten his name. Once, he was feared—his sails black against the horizon, his laughter echoing like cannon fire. But now, the pirate wandered alone, his ship creaking like an old memory. 

He no longer sought treasure. Gold had slipped through his fingers too many times, and the weight of it had never filled the silence in his heart. Instead, he drifted from shore to shore, collecting whispers of forgotten places. A seashell from a child, a lantern from a fisherman, a song hummed by a widow—these became his treasures. 

At night, he sat on the deck beneath the stars. The ocean was calm, almost tender, and he listened to it breathe. He wondered if the sea was his punishment or his companion. Perhaps both. 

One dawn, as the horizon blushed with light, he whispered to the waves: 
"I am no longer a pirate. I am only a man who wanders." 

The sea did not answer, but it carried him onward, quietly, endlessly. 

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