He resembled the Flying Dutchman character with his long and bushy beard which left the eyes and the nose visible, if the eyes hadn't moved he would have been mistaken for a morose sculpture which could withstand the world for few years and then would crumble to bits.
The wind was strong and cold and it was certain that the rippled blue water would soon be more disturbed, but that would happen only when the golden disc, which had been influencing the water and everything with its hue, had disappeared; even his whole self seemed to have transformed by it , thus rendering him to some glittering standstill figure.
Finally , darkness dawned upon the place, the water which was golden was now pitch black and its surface sparkled when the strong and swaying lights of lamps cast upon it. It was blueish, comforting and it promised something to life in days, and when it was golden it was full of melancholy , and now everything was still but fear.
This old-looking corroded figure from some ancient place looked like the figure who could steer his beauty through storms. But he was put in charge of the beauty by default and with a bit of prop by his social standing at home. His appearance wasn't the creation of his internal tussles and culminations, it was like a very natural-looking cover which was put on only to disguise his wreathing body and the tremors constantly passing over his whole body.
When he was thrown among the bidders he was full of enthusiasm, and when was given the position he fought for he wasn't sure anymore why he had done so and whether he would be able to gather himself to take on it with the same enthusiasm he had shouted while he was jostling among his kind. When he thought back he wasn't sure anymore whether the enthusiasm then was his own or whether it was created by the nervousness among the many and he perceived it as true enthusiasm ,which he grabbed and slapped it against his chest and like an electrified person plunged.
Yes, it could have been a misconception. But that misconception had already transported him to this world cut out only for people with courage.
This was made even more terrifying when he had learned that he was all alone, and he would have to sail from this end of the ocean to the other relying on his intuitions and passion.
The figure which was seen standing a while ago with hands on the railing now began to bend and was seen on the scrubbed wooden floor hugging his knees with his big but frail hands resembling a child artist who was planted on stage and now out of fear and confusion, with strangers staring at him, began to wail.
Who would hear him here ,though? Would it be the sea? Would it be thick cover of darkness? Would it be those few twinkling stars?
To think of the world where he ruled was to know his helplessness, to think of the voyage itself was to imagine an already-doomed life, and to reflect on his present condition was to know that he was already defeated before before the voyage had even started.
A person was thrown in, tested and declared destroyed. Such humiliation in front of many would have found him sympathy, here it struck him to the core of his human conscience, hollowed it out and then in loud vibrating sound it was delivered to him. There couldn't be any pretensions, it was just like looking at your own shorn off hand and knowing there is no one but you to wash it, bandage it and then to ensure it doesn't fester.
When the sun was up it would him on the same water with its comforting colour he would find himself as an unchanged person, someone who was capable of feeling only fear, and capable to ask himself " Why did I come out to this world?"
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