literature

A Pirate's Life For Me

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Literature Text

The wood before you explodes into a shower of splinters. You hit the deck, the rough wood of the ship’s planks hard against your aching knees. The tattered remains of clothing that hang from your arms and legs do little to protect your body from wooden shrapnel or the chill of the wet sea air. In moments, you’re back on your feet with gritted teeth, barely noticing the violent shifting of the boat beneath you. The storm could not have come at a worse time. Something wet and sticky covers the left side of your face. You reach to wipe it away and your hand comes back red. Blood, but it isn’t yours. A comrade lay facedown on the deck mere feet from you, pumping scarlet lifeblood all over the wood you’ve spent hours scrubbing. The cannonball must have missed you by a hand’s breadth at most. The poor fool on the deck wasn’t so lucky.

You reach down to the side of the doomed man and finagle his sword from its sheathe. The polished metal gleams in the dim, grey light that manages to force its way through the clouds. Thunder cracks overhead, and the booms of cannon fire shouts an answer. A solid hand on the rail and you heave yourself down onto the lower deck. Splintered remains of ship and men lay scattered over the deck, gunwales in tatters, most cannons still firing, some unmanned. You maneuver to the nearest cannon, the gunner like one of the nearby dead and dying. You find the fuse lighter abandoned, and thankfully, still lit. Crouching behind the ordnance, you peer over the top of the metal tube at your target. The galleon towers above you, nearly double the size of the frigate you defended. But that also made it a bigger target. You shift the butt of the cannon slightly, aiming at something that seemed important, and you jam the burning end of the fuse lighter into the cannon’s wick. Dropping the stick, you clamp your hands over your ears as fire and smoke erupts from the cannon. You peer over the gunwale to examine the result just in time to see one of the galleon’s masts teeter and bend under its own weight, groaning with sudden stress. Your smile is wicked with pride as men shout warnings, the tower of wood squealing in agony as the mast cracks, toppling from the galleon like an ancient oak slain. The pillar of wood and sail falls in your direction, and you turn to watch your comrades dive out of the way as it crunches through the deck of your ship. Oops.

You abandon the cannon, searching for a way onto the galleon. With the main mast destroyed, they would have no way to escape. Several of your mates have already realized this, grabbing ropes and swinging over to the deck of the enemy ship. You glance about for a rope when you notice the toppled mast, the product of your handiwork. It would have to do. You vault onto the round mast with your free hand, arms out to either side as you sprint along the massive trunk. The whipping wind threatens to rob you of your balance, sending you careening into the shadowy depths of the ocean below, the sea a tempest of dark water white-capped waves. You forge onward and reach the other ship, the crew aboard clashing swords and spewing curses at your mates. You grip your sword, the weight of the metal comforting in you hand. You plant your feet on the deck and charge at the gunner on your left. He turns towards you, a pale face beneath rain-plastered hair, a mouth open in shock and confusion. You bring the sword up with both hands, slashing down. Your blade catches the man in the neck, and you feel the tension in the sword as it moves through his flesh, his shirt, and out the other side. A spray of red coats your silver as the man’s eyes go wide, hands reaching too late towards his open arteries. He drops wordlessly to the deck, eyes darting left and right, looking for help that would never come in time. Your own eyes, open and alert, dart to your left, a gleam at the edge of your vision. You raise your arm in defense, your sword ringing as you clash blades with your foe. The man snarls at you, spittle spraying in your face as you lock blades. You shove him back, feet planted, and whip your sword at his left. He parries your blade down, nearly wrenching the hilt from your hands. He raises his once more to cut you down as you bring your blade up to block, all too slowly.

The ship rocks violently, and you both lose your footing. You fall roughly to the deck, your sword jumping out of your hands. The storm has fully picked up, grasping the ragged sails of both ships and whipping them wildly in the rain. You see the sailor up against the railing, his sword gone, and you both eye your abandoned sword between you. He dives for the blade, and you dive for him. Your clenched fist meets his nose just as he grasps your blade, the soft flesh crunching under your knuckles. He staggers back, blood already streaming from his nostrils, arms out and flailing. He hits the railing as another wave rocks the boat, and he yelps in surprise as he is lifted off his feet, tumbling over the gunwale and into the waters below.

You stare, shocked, waiting for him to come back over the railing. Seconds pass as the battle rages around you, but nothing comes back over the gunwale. The sword, now lying innocently where the man once stood, glimmering gleeful grey and red in the dim light. The sight yanks you out of your reverie, and you scramble to reclaim your weapon. Getting carefully to your feet, you turn slowly, taking in the full sight of the chaos around you. Men hack and slash at one another, blood and burning oil spilled haphazardly across the deck of the ship that will soon be yours. Gunsmoke and fire fill the air, cut through by the cold rain and wind of the storm. A fierce grin creeps onto your face as you jump back into the heat of the fight, slashing some sap’s back from behind, running a fool through with your blade when his pistol fails to fire. Your grin turns vicious as the glory of the battle fills your veins, vim and vigor giving your body life, the clash of steel on steel igniting your very soul.

This is what it means to be a pirate. This is what it means to be alive.
Hey look, a story! Wow! Nuu 
So I'm not dead. Surprise! I'm just slow, as usual. And I take forever to write, and even longer to finish things, since I can't focus on anything for more than five minutes. 

So while trying to get over that, I wrote this. It's short, it's fast, and it's in second person POV, which is SUPER weird to write in. However, this was a blast to write, and hopefully it's a blast to read. It's a stand-alone story about you, a pirate, laying waste to an enemy cargo ship in the middle of who-knows-where. No intro, no story, just pure action. I'm trying to get better at describing the environment as events happen, and this is good practice for me. Hopefully you felt like you were there on the ship, in the midst of the action. 

Again, I know this is super short, and was not written in place of another story or anything like that. I'm just trying to get better at consistently sitting down and writing. This might mean that I will have shorter, choppier submissions at a faster pace. It also might mean that the quality of said stories could be less than something I spend an excessive amount of time on, like the Boy in the Pantry, for example. I'm not sure if that's what you guys would prefer, so let me know in the comments below if you like the rare, huge-chunk stories or want me to try out a new, short-chapter system.

I would love to continue writing about some of the stories that have been sitting in my gallery gathering dust forever. I know you all have really enjoyed those, and I'm trying. But sometimes it's difficult to be inspired to write about one thing for a long period of time. I'm trying to get better though. 

So yeah, here's this. Hopefully this isn't the only thing I post for the next week, and I can get something else on here soon. If not, remind me to! :) People reminding me to sit down and write really helps. Thanks for reading! 
© 2016 - 2024 MichaelArchangelus
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Pearlbomber's avatar
Amazing story, I really felt like I was there!