To Be the Captain

To Be the Captain To Be the Captain

Status: Finished

Genre: Action and Adventure

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Action and Adventure

Tags

Summary

a story about the realities of pirate life - rape, murder, pillaging, suicide...

Tags

Summary

a story about the realities of pirate life - rape, murder, pillaging, suicide...

Content

Submitted: October 29, 2007

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: October 29, 2007

A A A

A A A


To Be the Captain
 
“Shiver my timbers, shiver in the rain
Yo oh heave ho
There are whores whose legs gonna ease my pain
Yo oh heave ho…”
 
Running. Screaming. Crying. The sharp report of pistols. Cannon fire. Bits of stone flying through the air. The coppery smell of fresh blood just spilled. All distant, all dim, as she cringes before me. The glint of silver in her ears, and the shine of pearls round her neck. The wide, dark eyes, full of fear and wonder. I rip off her dress, exposing that creamy, innocent flesh for the sin around us to see. A bone-chilling scream of pleasure and agony torn from her lips - against her will. Her eyes close; the terror, the disbelief, the desire…conflicting emotions flit across her face with every thrust of my hips. The cry of delight on her lips, the horror in those bottomless orbs – how I love to make a woman contradict herself in this, the most basal of ways. Women, always right, never wrong, never to be argued with… except in this, the last surrender before the noose. I knock the chair out from under her legs, taking her weight as she gratefully wraps her firm, toned legs around my waist. The cries, once so full of fear and revulsion, now take on the tone of one resigned to her fate, one who is taking the last bit of pleasure from this iniquitous world. Her acceptance holds firm, my conquest of her nigh; I plunge into her with more vigour, more fervour. She clutches at me greedily, begging with her body. My knees begin to buckle, the last few strokes well placed… My laughter rings out amongst the hoarse shouts of men, and the lone, strangled cry of a woman follows soon after. Her limp legs slip from around me, their once strong hold gone, along with the life that controlled them. I walk to the door, towards the riches that await me, and leave the lifeless cadaver swinging from the rafters…
 
 
 
“Shiver my timbers, shiver my sides
Yo oh heave ho
There are hungers as strong as the wind and tides
Yo oh heave ho…”
 
The streets dark with misery, the glow of fire lights my path; a path strewn with corpses and human filth. The smell of treasure draws me on; towards the only thing in the Main that has any meaning to me – Wealth. The only thing that everyone wants. And very few hold it in their greedy, sweating palms. A pretty thing, with multiple uses: a universal bartering tool. Men run past me with it gleaming in their arms. Harsh, cruel looks splattered across their faces, their garb tattered and torn. That one is missing an eye, his mate a leg. Others have tattoos plastered up their arms, and occasionally you’ll find a hoop through an ear or two… Whip-hardened men, all faithful hands before the mast. Dependable and thorough; I can hardly call them honest or trustworthy. They will find all the wealth in this port, and we will take it all.
 
“Shiver my timbers, shiver in pleasure
Yo oh heave ho
The lust for gold makes you kill for treasure
Yo oh heave ho…”
 
A hand snatches at my leg; sharply I look down and see eyes filled with pain and desperation. A menacing smirk creeps across my features, and the air rings with the sound of metal being slipped from its wrappings. A whistle and the eyes pop out of their head with the surprise of having had their guts spilled onto the cobblestone street. I smile again, the hand loosens its death grip, and I continue to revel in the sounds of screams reverberating through the chorus of shouts, and the drum roll of cannons.
 
I follow the trail of burdened sailors back to the boats, watching in ecstasy as boat after boat is piled high with all manner of shiny, expensive things. I give the order to start shifting the loot into the ship, and turn around to find a couple of fools trying to fight their way through. Pulling my pistol, I let off a round of lead into their skulls, laughing as brains get blown across the beach.
 
“Shiver my timbers, shiver my soul
Yo oh heave ho
There are men whose hearts are as black as coal
Yo oh heave ho…”
 
Over the waves drifts the chorus of a shanty, sung in low, far from dulcet tones. The bo’sun cracks the captain’s daughter, a twisted expression of satisfaction on his brutal façade. My ears savour the cries of pain, the punishment metered out; stroke after calculated stroke. The rise and fall of the Murderer’s Whore…rhythmic, hypnotic, but ruthless; as unforgiving as the man she’s named for - Me. The mainsail’s set the compass points true; Isla del Asesino rears up out of the surf before me…
 
The crew make to take our precious wealth to shore, and to its prepared place. My boats wallow about in the ocean, straining against the weight of the gold. The men row in terror, desperate not to lose any of our haul to the fury of the watery depths, or themselves to Davy Jones.  The shore receives us hungrily, as if it is glad I wish to bury a fortune within it. Warning shouts - each man reminding the other of the punishment for loosing a single doubloon.  For every doubloon, every guineas, every ounce of silver or gold, is another bottle of rum or another night spent in the company of a willing woman. Its words like those that ensure my crew takes more care to look after their…investment. As chest upon chest is lowered into a shallow grave, my worry begins to ease; my wealth is assured.
 
“Shiver my timbers, shiver my bones
Yo oh heave ho
There are secrets that sleep with old Davy Jones
Yo oh heave ho…”
 
Hot. Dry. Alone. Eyes, crusted with salt. Lips, cracked and bleeding. Smell of putrid flesh, roasting in the sun. Lying on a desolate beach, remembering my wealth, now unusable; my power, ripped away; my ship and my murderous reputation put out to sea, never to return to me again... Waves collide into reefs; the torment of water, undrinkable. My hut gone, burnt when they marooned me… just me, and Death. I claw the sand off my face, pry open my eyes, and gingerly sit up. My pistol, set just out of reach. An empty flask, thrown across the coarse sand in desperation. Skulls, piled up in front of me, the rest of the skeletons piled on top of the hoard. A warning, a threat…15 men I killed a year ago for these markers. And another 15 I killed to mark the map. The map I wouldn’t give them. The map they tortured me for. The map that leads here. To Treasure… and me. A lonely, dead me. I take up my pistol, whose use I have been grateful for many times over. Stroking it fondly, I load it; stumble over to the bone pile, and sit, looking out towards the horizon to which I will never again sail towards. Like so many women I have taken for my pleasure have done during my forceful attacks, I resign myself to my fate. I accept the last choice Destiny offers to me – the manner of my death. Wearily, my parting words to rivals now leave my mouth as a parting to this world…
 
“Shiver my timbers, shiver my sails,
Dead men tell no tales.”
 
BANG!!!
 


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