muyingwangqu

@@@@@the ship, that gorgeous white swallow John Eastlake screamingblood running from his nose and one eye I stared at it, mesmerizedIt was a child's watercolor, but it had been executed with hellish 801 skillIt depicted a man who looked insane with terror, grief, or both "One more, muchacho," Wireman said I flicked back the picture of the screaming man Old dried watercolors rattled like bonesBeneath the screaming father was the ship again, only this time it really was my ship, my PerseElizabeth had painted it at night, and not with a brush - I could still see the ancient dried prints of her child's fingers in the swirls of gray and black This time it was as if she had finally seen through the Perse's disguiseThe boards were splintered, the sails drooping and full of holes Around her, blue in the light of a moon that did not smile or send out happy-rays, hundreds of skeleton arms rose from the water in a dripping saluteAnd standing on the foredeck was a baggy, pallid thing, vaguely female, wearing a decayed something that might have been a cloak, a winding shroudIt was the red-robe, my redrobe, only seen from the frontThree empty 802 sockets peered from its head, and its grin outran the sides of its face in a crazy jumble of lips and teethIt was far more horrible than my Girl and Ship paintings, because it went straight to the heart of the matter without any pause for the mind to catch upThis is everything awful, it saidThis is everything you ever feared to find waiting in the darkSee how its grin races off its face in the moonlightSee how the drowned salute it "Christ," I said, looking up at Wireman"When, do you think? After her sisters - ?" "Must have beenMust have been her way of coping with it, don't you think?" "I don't know," I sa