The Pirate's Journey

The ship had been docked for four days. Many of its planks were barely attached before this point, a light layer of water forming below deck. It had been near sinking, though the pirate never wanted to admit it. It had been only at the insistence of a crewmate that the ship had been docked, long enough to repair its planks and bucket out the water.
And so the pirate found himself on land. The sandy shores directly at the mouth of April Strait were warm and tropical, almost addictingly so. The food was so sweet it could make one sick, and the village so scarcely populated it gave the illusion that the world belonged solely to the visitor. It was lonely. The pirate's crew dispersed themselves throughout the village, and he hardly saw them anymore. A few of them had been distant at sea as well, though that was just what happened to a crew over time. Perhaps it was time to swap out a few members, or learn to run efficiently on less.
The pirate had never wanted to stop. His ship didn't do well without momentum- he could already sense the dread radiating from it at having to get back into the white waters of April Strait directly after being docked on a warm beach. The beach, in fact, was so warm, that the sand had actually singed a few of the planks, rendering what used to be strong weaker after the intermission.

But it had to be done. While a singed boat is difficult to navigate, it recovers much faster than a sunken one.
The crew was still nowhere to be seen. The pirate would eventually circle back around. Most of them had never done much to help run the ship anyway, and after all, they seemed to love this village so. Perhaps they'd be happier off the ship.

He'd depart tomorrow, he decided.

"/standing on a shore / staring down a hurtling storm / makin' its way towards me/"
- paladin strait (twenty one pilots)