Everyone abroad the ghost ship was busy planning the raid on El Dorado.
They were all squatting on a beautiful Persian carpet in the tastefully furnished dining hall of the ship.
‘Our last expedition to El Dorado was a terrible disaster. But this time we must succeed,’ said the captain who was the only ghost in that room that was not drunk.
‘That was more than three hundred years ago and we were mortals then; but now we do not fear anything, not even the storms and not even the pirates,’ boasted the first mate.
‘Let’s not tempt the fate; let’s be realistic and approach El Dorado very carefully.’
‘Now we have powers to overwhelm every obstacle, even the selfish and cunning men,’ interjected a sailor who was the oldest among them.
But no one in that dining hall could anticipate the fate that was to about to befall them.
A storm was raging near the coast of El Dorado. It was no ordinary storm; it had a life of its own and it had plans to target the ghost ship. It wanted to test its immense power against the unearthly beings.
A post for Sunday PhotoFiction on a photo prompt and