The Sea Blinked

A Captain’s Confession

Prologue

Present Day

Mauritius

The waves licked the white sand of La Morne as Aaron and his little sister chased each other along the shoreline. The Indian Ocean sparkled like glass under the morning sun.

"Aaron, that’s disgusting!" his sister squealed, backing away as he lifted the object from the surf.

It was a old glass bottle, coated in barnacles, seaweed wrapped around its neck like twisted green ribbon. Aaron grinned, holding it high.

"Come on! It's a treasure!" he shouted, chasing her playfully.

Their father’s voice cut across the beach. "Aaron! Enough. Bring that here."

Aaron jogged back, presenting the large bottle with pride.

His father examined it, turning it gently in his hands. Inside, sealed and yellowed with age, was a rolled scraps of paper.

"Looks like... a message in a bottle," he said softly.

He held it up against the light, eyes narrowing.

"Let us see what story you have to tell."

Private Confession of Captain Chloe Swift

Page 1

11th June

The Day I Became Captain

I should be at the bottom of the sea. But the storm blinked first.

The mast snapped, crushed our captain. The waves roared. The crew cowered. The lightning circled like a predator. But I stood on the rigging of the foremast, cursed the ocean’s mother, and dared her to strike me. The sea blinked. I did not.

I joined The Bleeding Heart disguised as a boy. When one of them discovered the truth, he forced himself on me. I slit his throat and fed his cock to the cat.

As I came down from the rigging, the captain's hat washed up to my boots. I took it as an offering from the ocean and wore it. Now eighty men kneel before me.

Some out of loyalty. Some out of fear. Brutus calls me Saint Chloe.

Am I a saint? I do not know.

I only know this. I am Captain. The ship obeys me. The sea fears me. And men who once called me a curse now call me "Sir."

We sail for Port Louis, Mauritius. My first true test. The world will see me. The world will learn.

Page 2

14th June

Port Louis

The port stinks. Sweat. Spice. Salt. Men shouting. Oxen straining. Flies feasting.

The Customs Officer squinted at my papers like they were written in witchcraft.

"A woman?" he sneered. "Captain? Of a crew of eighty?" He chuckled. "You sail a ghost ship, perhaps."

Brutus stood beside me, silent, towering.

"And you have a pet negro? How charming," the officer added, curling his lip.

I smiled, stepped forward, close enough to see my reflection in his polished boot. Then I spat. Just beside the shine.

"By the time you notice we have gone, you will already be praying we never return."

His face soured. But he stamped the papers. Authority bends when pressed hard enough.

Page 3

15th June

Port Louis Central Market

She collided into me like fate wearing silk.

Barefoot, golden-skinned, eyes wide with something between terror and worship. She spoke perfect English, her voice soft but steady.

"Forgive me, Captain," she looked up and said. "You are… You are a woman."

"I am."

"You lead men?"

I nod.

She called me Divine. The White Sita. She even said she dreamt about me at her pyramids, whatever that meant.

I do not know who Sita is. Some goddess, perhaps? Or some girl stolen and tested, like so many of us.

Before I could ask, her overseer barked. "Come, girl. No time for idols."

She obeyed, but her eyes lingered, sparkling under the setting sun. The cart rattled away, taking her with it.

I turned to Brutus, a former slave. “I thought slavery ended?”

“They now call it Indentured labour.”

I watched until the dust settled, memorising the name of the plantation which was sign written on the cart. Plaine Magnien.

Page 4

16th June, Early Hours.

Royal Road Southbound / Plaine Magnien Pyramids.

I walked the track in the same direction as the cart left yesterday. I have no plan, but just know I had a yearning to see the young woman again. Could not help myself.

The road was long and turned into a dusty red earthed track. I walked through the day, my suffering in the heat only stirring me on. Plaine Magnien slept beneath a bloated moon. The cane fields whispered as I crept between the rows, tall stalks rustling like gossips in the ship’s galley.

I stopped. The pyramids jutted above the cane like jagged teeth.

Crude, black, weatherworn. Piled stone upon stone. Twice the height of a woman.

I touched one. Warm beneath my palm. Humming, like it remembered something ancient.

That is when he appeared. An old man. Walking stick in hand.

Skin stretched tight over bone, eyes hollow, robes little more than threads. He moved like breath over still water.

He spoke in broken English. "Ria built for you. Seven. So you would come."

"Ria?"

"The girl who prayed for you ."

His thumb smeared ash across my skin.

"Now you have come, Durga." he rasped. "Save her."

He vanished like breath on glass.

Page 5

Plaine Magnien Labour Barracks.

I crept to the long barracks. Boards creaked under my boots. Inside, bodies huddled on straw, some barely more than skin wrapped round ribs. Faces sunken. Eyes flickering in dreams or fever.

Ria was awake. Sitting beside a heavily pregnant woman who was breathing shallow.

"You came," Ria whispered. "And you wear the sacred bindi."

"You called me divine. I answer. I had no choice." I glanced at the door. "Let's go."

"I cannot leave without my mother." She laid her hand on her mother’s swollen belly. "Or the baby."

"Please help us," her mother said.

Before I could reply, others stirred. Whispers spread like wildfire. "Durga is here." "She has come for us." "Take us with you."

Their eyes burned with desperate hope. I had not come for this.

"You want freedom?" I whispered. "Then stay close. I am not your God, but I am a woman."

Page 6

We slipped through the cane under cover of darkness. But freedom offends certain men.

The overseer blocked the path. Fat. Sweaty. Drunk on stolen rum and stolen lives.

"You will lead them nowhere, bitch. Men's clothing does not make you a man," he spat. "I will see you whipped dead."

He raised his stick. I stepped forward.

I headbutted him full in the nose. Bone cracked. Blood sprayed. He howled.

He fell hard, and I kicked him once, twice, in the gut.

"I bow to no man," I hissed.

The others stared in silence. Their captain. Their saint.

Page 7

Le Morne.

We ran.

But dogs love a race..

The barking came first. Then torches flickering behind us, weaving like angry fireflies. Boots hammered the dirt.

I led them uphill. The land grew steep, the path rough. My mind spun. I could not take them back to my crew. My men wanted gold, not starving Indians and scattered Chinese.

I bought them minutes, nothing more.

The ocean roared somewhere below. I wanted time to think. The hill offered none.

Page 8

We reached the cliff’s edge. The drop was sheer. Black waves smashed against the rocks far below.

The dogs closed in behind us. Torches lit the ridge like a funeral pyre.

Behind me, the others were breaking. Some wept. Some shouted. A few dropped to their knees, clutching children, trembling.

"Captain, what do we do?" one cried.

Ria raised her voice, calm and steady. "Have faith. Go back to a life of serfdom, or take a chance for freedom. I know what I choose." The wind snatched her words, scattering them like a prayer over the faithful. .

I turned, breathless. "I am out of miracles."

Ria stood beside me, calm as sunrise.

"You are not Sita," she said softly. "I was wrong."

"Then what am I?"

She smiled. "You are Durga."

The same name the old man used.

"Jump," she whispered.

"What?"

"Trust me. The Varuna will save you."

"The sea?" I whispered. "The sea tried to kill me."

"The sea blinked. You did not, remember?" she said.

How does she know? I didn't have time to ask questions.

I held her hand and stood for one heartbeat longer. The barking behind. The ocean ahead.

I closed my eyes. "Ria!" And we jumped into the darkness below..

17th June

Back on The Bleeding Heart

I wrote this and placed it into the ocean, as a thank you to The Varuna, and to Ria, who had more faith than I ever dared.