In the steel heart of a sailor lay a dream untouched and unspoken. His burdened muscles worked on deck, his agonizing mind worked at sea, his soul never moved enough to make him feel a purpose in life. A purpose in life? Because he had never thought of such a thing! The very idea seemed foreign, foreign; because how could he, an overworked sailor, a phlegmatic man, an outcast human being, have such a thing? The sailor wiped away a drop of sweat, listening to the roars of the men around him, numb to the laughter that penetrated the air. One of the men drank until his cheeks turned a brilliant scarlet, another recited pleasant tales of treasure and power in the otherwise desolate men, and, yet another, roused the crowd with humorous quips, sending whoops of laughter through the men . Disgusted by the tormented atmosphere of happiness, the sailor rushed off the deck; crawling into the only place he could call his own. Some boxes were lined up rhythmically in his plot, one always surrounded by the other. It felt like what a prison cell should feel like: dank, mysterious, disturbing, but bringing a sense of tranquility. And even though he had never been imprisoned, he felt caged, more than the stars above, free but never allowed to fly. This, he thought, could be considered nothing less than his home, a place that no other man could destroy or take away. He saw the sun's ray slide across the dusty wooden floor, being sucked into the portholes as the day drew to a close. The silence seemed to lull the waves, the ship, begging it to sleep and carry the rest of the night in peace. And so, the night bathed the waves and the ship on it, the ship and the people on it, the people and their minds. But the sailor lay in the night, unchanged. Maybe he could take… half the paper… the leg as the weight of the anchor took over. He wanted to go back! He wanted to feel that wind! “John?! John!" he heard William scream. And as his body plunged into the freezing water, the last thing he saw was that merciful William, diving after him. He woke up in a bed, on which only the captain could sleep And like the day he read poems, there were all the other sailors sitting around him, saying things like "We didn't know you were so alone, you should have said something!" or “What did we do?!” the sailor knew that his choice was the right one, and that even if he died, he would not regret it. He would not regret the one thing that distinguished his dream from others. He would not let that dream slip through his fingers, like a grain of golden sand. Works Cited "A Dream Within a Dream" by Edgar Allen Poe"