On a quiet bend of the mighty Mississippi River, under a canopy of ancient oaks hung with Spanish moss, the river's murmurs intertwined with the shadows of stories long past. The full moon peeked through the gnarled branches, casting an ethereal glow on a solitary figure.
Evangeline stood barefoot on the muddy banks, her eyes fixed on the ribbon of water that had devoured her dreams. The river had a malevolent glint tonight, as if mocking her vigilant watch.
It had been a mere echo in time when she and her beloved Sam waltzed here under the same moonbeams, their laughter harmonizing with the crooning rhythm of the water.
Sam, caramel-skinned and full of reckless charm, was born and bred in Louisiana and had gambling in his veins. A restless spirit inside drove him to the riverboats where fortunes could be sewn or severed by cards and dice. Evangeline was his anchor, or so she believed, against the siren call of risk and ruin.
"I'll be back, my dove," Sam had whispered, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. "This riverboat gambler's gotta make his killing."
Yet the words had begun to rot, the promise fermenting into a poison. The Mississippi Queen, a majestic vessel that could bless or curse its patrons, had claimed his time and heart.
Tonight, amid lightning's wild dance, Evangeline felt the final thread of hope snap. In the distance, the Mississippi Queen struggled against the torrents, battling a wrath that seemed otherworldly. The storm was fierce, and the fury in Evangeline's heart continued to burn hotter.
"Why do you torment me?" she screamed, voice swallowed by the wind. "Why take from me my only joy?"
The river's response was a deafening crack, and to her horror, she saw it: the enormous hull of the Mississippi Queen split and stagger like a wounded beast. The once-proud boat, connoisseur of revelry, now a specter teetering on the edge of abyss. She heard the screams of men and women realizing too late the fickle nature of fortune.
Evangeline’s heart twisted. "Sam!" she cried, her voice breaking under the weight of helpless despair.
Her cursed vigil turned into a macabre parade of memories: the nights they danced, their future whispered in secret promises under the weeping willows, and Sam's invincible smile—a beacon of love now fatally eclipsed. But she also remembered the darkness that lurked in him, the pull of danger, a waltz of shadows that the Mississippi Queen amplified until it swallowed him whole.
Evangeline stood rooted, hoping for a miracle, half expecting to see her lost love walk on the turbulent waves, unscathed. "Please," she whispered to the universe, "don't let this be our end."
But the storm raged, and the river obeyed no one. Thunder and water melded into an apocalyptic roar as the Queen vanished beneath the waves, leaving no trace of its opulent life or its wretched demise.
Evangeline fell to her knees, her despair a cavernous void. "Cursed be the soul of the Mississippi Queen," she spat venomously. "For it took my heart's only passion and drowned it in the depths."
Days turned to weeks, and the riverbank became Evangeline’s solitary realm. She spoke of Sam in whispers to the empty air. Neither the river nor life offered her reprieve, so she cursed and she waited, holding on to a perilous edge of sanity.
Years turned into decades, and riverboat gamblers who passed that bend under the moonlight would hear a haunting melody of a woman cursing the Mississippi Queen and waiting eternally for a man who'd been swallowed by the river. And, they would swear, they caught a glimpse of a spectral figure, the lightning-lit silhouette of Evangeline bound to her sorrowful vigil.
© Odd Voyage