“No. Absolutely not.” Siobhan shook her head, her mass of gorgeous red hair flying around her face. It was hard to remain stoic in her presence.

  “Why not? She’ll fit right in with the other undead things. Myself included.” I tried to sound convincing, but my humor was definitely lost on her.

  “I don’t do ghosts, lad. She’s not comin’.” She turned her back on me and started to walk back across the deck of the Flying Dutchman. The zombie and skeleton crew had turned around to look at the ethereal ghost girl exploring the ship behind me. Alma's white gown floated in a wind that wasn't there.

  “She’s technically a Reaper, not a ghost.” I called out. Siobhan threw her arms in the air, like that fact made any sort of difference to her. So, I tried a more personal approach. “She’s my friend.”

  Siobhan stopped and her delicate freckled shoulders slumped up and down as she sighed.

  “I told you all about Alma on the way to Greece. She was there the first time I died, and has been my friend since. Probably one of my only friends besides you.” I guilted her. I could feel Alma's glowing red eyes turning to stare at the back of my head, in that unblinking way that she did.

  Siobhan spun around and stormed back up to me, her slender finger wagging in my face. I stared up at her from under my big hood. Her eye twitched and her face went red as she looked back and forth between Alma and I. She let out an exasperated sigh.

  “I don’t want ‘er driftin’ about the ship spookin’ erryone. Or me specifically. Are we clear, ?” The way she says ‘boy’ almost felt demeaning, if I didn't know she was being playful.

  “Why don’t you just talk to her? I’m sure you’ll like her. She’s friendly enough, and a little…umm,” I didn’t want to say cold, because it wasn't exactly correct. Removed might be the better word.

  “Ay, she’s creepy, is what she is. She can come, but if I find ‘er driftin’ around me room, I’m callin’ the damned Ghostbusters.” Siobhan stomped off again, kicking a mop bucket as she went.

  “Siobhan.” I called after her. She spun around again, but I had caught up to her. I surprised her with a kiss. It was fast, and probably not romantic at all, but I needed to feel something. I guess it was selfish of me, but I needed to be the one who chose this. She pulled away slowly and looked me up and down.

  “Yer not the Dyson I dropped off in Greece anymore. What ‘appened to the wee lad who almost shit his britches every time I touched him?” She chuckled, folding her arms across her mostly exposed breasts. She knew damn well that our evening together in the city when she was able to come on land for twenty four hours was a different version of me too. It was like switching hats for different events, except they were the masks I used to deal with other people. And they were all starting to crack. I didn't want her to see what was underneath. I looked her over and truly drank her in; tattoos, piercings, make-up, but so much more. Her fierce soul and aura of powerful magic were what made her truly alluring.

  “He’s dead. Got hit by a car, broke both his legs and never made it home to Ontario.” I mumbled. My experience in Greece had changed me, but it was the time spent since then that had really begun to change who I was. Siobhan looked me over and nodded. She grabbed the collar of my hoodie and yanked me in close.

  “We’ll don’t ya go changin’ too much on me.” She said, before returning the kiss. Her lips were warm and soft and everything I wanted them to be in that moment. If I could clip this moment out, us standing on the Flying Dutchman, under a starless sky and full moon, I would keep it forever and replay it when I needed to. I had a feeling I need it. I waved my ghostly companion over, and Siobhan turned almost as white as Alma.

  “What’s wrong?” Alma asked innocently, almost robotically.

  “Ya make me uncomfortable ghost girly. But ya mean a lot to Dyson, so as long as you don't go driftin' around scarin' the shit outta me, you can come. Understood?” Siobhan was trying her hardest to keep up her pirate Captain demeanor, while being terrified. It was strange for a woman who sailed the sea with skeletons and zombies, to be afraid of ghosts.

  “I’m not a ghost…but okay, I’ll try not to be too spooky.” Alma giggled. Like actually giggled. It was a soft, airy sound, but it got me to turn and look at her. It was the first time I had ever heard it. We cocked our heads and looked at each other. When Siobhan turned her back to return to the Captain's Quarters, Alma and I looked at each other and went 'Oooooo' and wiggled our arms in the air, mocking the poor woman.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  ~*~

  Out on the open waters, I was starting to feel at home. Helping the undead crew with the sails and ropes becomes a hobby instead of a chore and the more I practiced, the better shape I found myself in. No longer did the waves rock me into seasickness, instead, they lulled me to calm, cradling me like an infant. Out here, I was truly free; free from all the things that shackled me back home, like my past. At the bow, I stood above the figurehead, and out above the churning waves. My headphones were on full blast, my arms outstretched like sails in the wind. I felt transcendent. The winds whistled passed me and my hoodie flapped around me like wings.

  I could feel the essence of life around me; the fish beneath, the dolphins following along beside the ship, the gulls flying above. I felt every throbbing heartbeat, every motion of muscle. My body twitched with anticipation and I shivered. I had been practicing with the Scythe too, and Alma had been a worthy mentor. Eyes closed, I stepped out further, to the edge of the long prow above the gruesome figurehead and took a deep, steadying breath.

  If I fell, I would drown, and be crushed by the ship. But I would come back, and then possibly drown all over again. Would I sit at the bottom of the sea forever, dying and coming back?

  I reach for my Artifact and Death’s Scythe, the greatest weapon, shimmered into existence in my hands. The most powerful tool known to man; an instrument that the Order of Vigilance couldn’t even use before my sorry ass came along. They’d probably want it back, but who would come take it from me? Would they send Erik and the others? Would a Guardian come for me? A Progenitor? Any of the other weird titles that they threw around. I doubted the team would be doing much of anything other than falling apart. Not like they really needed me there to help that along anyway.

  I called to the primordial magic of the Scythe and took another deep breath, feeling the essences around me pull closer. I took another step to the edge of the prow and called out again. The essences of life around me tugged, and I felt their energy surge through me. It was like someone was electrocuting me, but I felt stronger. I felt powerful.

  Another step, another pull.

  I opened my eyes and looked down. One of my feet was dangling off the edge of the prow, the other holding all my weight. I turned gingerly to look back at the deck. All of the undead crew had turned to regard me; hollow sockets staring into my soul. The corpses of gulls littered the deck. I didn’t hear the dolphins splashing anymore. A horrid silence rang in my ears. I could hear the blood pumping from my heart, in my head. I dismissed the Scythe entirely and it faded into black smoke and shimmering lights once more.

  The undead crew returned to their work, some even moving the dead gulls overboard, like it had been a normal occurrence. I heard the thumps, as the bodies of dead sea creatures hit the sides of the ship as it cut through the waves. I jumped back down to the deck.

  I shivered again, but not with energy this time. This time it was fear of myself. Without any way to hold my power in check, I could just drain the life of living things around me. Not in any controlled fashion mind you. Just death, all around me. That was all I was good for. I understood now why the Order had wanted me to control this Artifact. I was a weapon.

  “Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds…” I muttered to myself.

  "I wouldn't go that far." Alma said, popping up beside me. The crew had gotten used to the pull of her strong presence on the ship, but they still stopped to bow as they passed.

  "Is my fate to just be the weapon of someone else's choosing? Did I come back from the dead, just to be this?" I grumbled, motioning to myself. Alma drifted lazily around me.

  "You were brought back from death for a reason. Not one that I've been made aware of yet, but a reason none the less. My Master takes pity very rarely on your kind. Something must be special about you." She was informing me of facts, but it felt like teasing. In her own weird way, maybe she was.

  "Sure, Death might have a plan for me, but to the Order of Vigilance I was just a tool. And not a very good one at that. I've never been sent on any missions where I didn't get put out of commission immediately. I've never killed any villains with my powers. They just kinda hoped I would know how to use the Scythe when the time came to throw me at an enemy, and hope I didn't die. Again." I knew it sounded like pouting, but Alma was decent to vent too. At least, if you weren't looking for an emotional reaction.

  "Then yes, you were being trained to be a weapon. But that doesn't have to be your sole purpose. Human beings contain multitudes. Each soul is special and unique, and your existence cannot simply be narrowed down to that one thing. You think, feel, express differently than all other humans. You are grains of sand, both insignificant, and yet, mighty." This time she seemed to be smiling slightly, almost resolute looking. I shrugged and moved to lean against the railing. "Once you learn to control and focus the powers of my Master's Scythe better, you can create your own destiny. You will be able to control death itself."

  "What if I never get the hang of it?" I asked. Not because I believed it, but because I was whining. Another mask that I wore. The one they all expected to see from me. The melancholy emo kid, desperate for the world to revolve around him. Truth be told, it was hard to bother with anyone anymore. The other Chosen still saw me as an outsider, despite their efforts to include me. My life before that was all but gone; no family to return home to, no girlfriend waiting for me. I was only who I chose to be in the moment. And I still had no idea who that was suppose to be.

  "I will teach you. You will learn." Alma said, matter-of-factly. I matched the stare of her glowing red eyes for a while, hoping to see something there; something more than what she gave me on the surface. But it was still the same as it had been. I couldn't force humanity on to things that weren't human.

  Surrounded by ghosts, zombies and skeletons, I felt truly alone.