kajarainbow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kajarainbow) wrote2008-05-23 04:40 pm
kajarainbow) wrote2008-05-23 04:40 pm
Entry tags:
Bloody Ghost
This is a vignette about that pirate queen I spoke of in the entry about my Candyland dream. ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eclective said they would like to see her story. I considered this for a couple of days, and then sat down and started writing. I didn't know how long it would be, whether it would be a novel, short story, or in between. Part-way through it, I realized it'd be a short story. This is my first finished work in years, short as the story is. Commentary and criticism welcome.
It started the day I saw her floating in the ocean. She was smiling, but when she looked up at me, she had a sadness in her eyes. Then she disappeared under the waves with a flick of tail, leaving me with only the memory of her beautiful form. Rolling waves of purple hair, white like pearls all the way down to her tail, the bright purple fins unfurling gracefully from that tail. I wondered what could make her sad at first sight of me.
I never saw her again. I've been sailing the seas for a long time, perhaps one day we'll meet and she might smile at me.
I've done my best. I always felt I was doing my best, but sometimes I think it's human nature to be mistaken about what is our best.
I was fifth in the litter, but my parents didn't have the resources to feed even two. I remember them coming in looking haggard, both dirty with dark dust. Mother tried her best, but it was up to us to do what was needed around the house. Those of us not working made sure the daily soup was prepared--when Mother saw it, she would just eat her share and then collapse still hungry into bed.
...I don't wish to speak anymore about my childhood.
I left. So my parents had less to care of. Figured I'd take myself out of there. Was sure I'd make more on my own.
Wandered town. Rotten garbage, fish left lying out in the sun... I loathe cities. Unpleasant to my nose. My crew don't understand why I don't go on shore leave in cities. Saltwater's a far cleaner smell.
I stared down into the depths, recalling an ancient memory. I was trying to claw toward the air, salty water gagging me, hurting trying to breath. I remember a beautiful woman giving me air. Then I was on pebbles and sand. Wet. It was strange, like a dream. I don't know if it happened. My parents said it didn't. It was so vivid.
You don't hurt family, whatever they might do to you. They're still family. But this man, he wasn't family. Nothing to stop me from taking his knife, covering it in his blood. I don't take that kind of treatment from anyone that isn't family.
He had seen me standing staring at the sea. He told me I was beautiful and praised my "ebony hair, skin like almonds", but said that I was young to have that scar. It's a large one, crossing my eyebrow. He smiled with hungry eyes.
He said he had a job for me. On a boat. I didn't like his eyes, but I went with him because my stomach was aching, and there were many as young as me or not much older. It seemed strange to me. Most ship crews I'd seen were older.
He whipped me. I didn't like that. I wasn't going to take that. So I crept up on him. He didn't expect me to escape my chains like that. It hurt, but I got my wrists out. I'm very quiet. Walk so lightly. Just one reason I got called the Bloody Ghost.
He was sleeping. Then he was gasping in surprise and pain, grabbing me, struggling. I felt dizzy, and there was blood in my eye. Pain on my head. But I was sitting on his corpse.
His crew, the few adults on board, stared at me as I kicked their captain's corpse. I told them to take me back. Got sullen glowers from them. Two of them threw angry words at me, threats.
I remember watching the three corpses bobbing in the water, wondering when the sharks would come. The survivors stared at me with more respect now--and fear.
Those weren't my first killings. I was really young when the patrolman told me it was sad for a little girl to have the eyes of an killer. It had been a day after my second kill. Someone who'd beaten my brother, told him he'd kill him if he came into that territory again. But we needed to cross it to work. And you don't mess with family.
Maybe that's why the woman in the ocean looked at me so sadly.
Saltwater. The feeling of the spar shifting preciously under my feet as my tail swung to compensate. The smell of gunpowder, the thunder of cannons. Wealth twinkling through my fingers. Days hungry, days overflowing. Sprinting at the horizon with hungry eyes, searching for others' sails.
I sent the monies to my mother. Too little an apology over Father. You don't do to family what I did to him. But you also don't do to family what Father did. Still, I hope he's resting in peace. May death cleanse away his sins.
The day after I saw the mermaid, we spotted a fat merchantman bobbing low in the water, heavy with goods. But I held off my crew as we followed her. Gliding silently like we always did, skimming just behind the heights of waves. And another ship took the bait, pouncing. Starved sea wolves, like us. And they died before us, their eyes wide in surprise as our sails popped up right next to them, and we leapt onto their docks.
The other pirates had no wealth, being as hungry as us. But the merchantman's crew thanked us with a share of their wealth. And so we sailed home with a hold less full than a successful day of looting. But after that, we had fewer hungry days. No days of overflowing, but a steady flow into our money-purses.
Sprinting at letters under candlelight. Careful study and adoption of different manners, to deal with arrogant persons expecting similar mannerisms and status displays to their own. The flowing blood of my former crewmen, those that had deserted at my change of careers, as they paid the price for targeting those ships under my protection. May death cleanse their sins. More and more names appearing upon my painstakingly written list of ships under my command. A navyman calling us mercenaries with a sneer. I let him live.
I have pens upon my island filled with beautiful creatures. Large pens more spacious than the cages I found them in. I brought in skilled tenders to care for them. Those whose eyes seemed most wild, like that woman of the sea's, I've scoured the seas for signs of their native homes to release them in. Some of them were so strange I've still not found their origins. Others so meek they'd never survive as anything but pets. Some of those I sell to the kindest seeming buyers.
I remember the coppery tang of blood, one purchaser who hadn't proven as kind as she appeared. It probably wasn't the best thing to do, but she wasn't overall a very good woman. May she rest in peace and death cleanse away her sins. And that poor bird she bought, may it rest in peace.
The wind is gentle on this island of mine. Crisp green smells. Hot and wet, but warmer than the shivering winters in the north. I still hear murmurs from across the waters, wondering where the Bloody Ghost had disappeared to. Some thinking I've retired to live off my plunders, or to bury them deep.
I still sail the oceans. My trade's different, and strangely people don't recognize me, except in the brief moment of terror upon the faces of those who attack my ship expecting hapless merchants. And I look for her.
I've worked to cleanse away my sins in life. May death, when it comes, cleanse the remaining sins away.
I wonder if she'll smile the next time we meet
eclective said they would like to see her story. I considered this for a couple of days, and then sat down and started writing. I didn't know how long it would be, whether it would be a novel, short story, or in between. Part-way through it, I realized it'd be a short story. This is my first finished work in years, short as the story is. Commentary and criticism welcome.It started the day I saw her floating in the ocean. She was smiling, but when she looked up at me, she had a sadness in her eyes. Then she disappeared under the waves with a flick of tail, leaving me with only the memory of her beautiful form. Rolling waves of purple hair, white like pearls all the way down to her tail, the bright purple fins unfurling gracefully from that tail. I wondered what could make her sad at first sight of me.
I never saw her again. I've been sailing the seas for a long time, perhaps one day we'll meet and she might smile at me.
I've done my best. I always felt I was doing my best, but sometimes I think it's human nature to be mistaken about what is our best.
I was fifth in the litter, but my parents didn't have the resources to feed even two. I remember them coming in looking haggard, both dirty with dark dust. Mother tried her best, but it was up to us to do what was needed around the house. Those of us not working made sure the daily soup was prepared--when Mother saw it, she would just eat her share and then collapse still hungry into bed.
...I don't wish to speak anymore about my childhood.
I left. So my parents had less to care of. Figured I'd take myself out of there. Was sure I'd make more on my own.
Wandered town. Rotten garbage, fish left lying out in the sun... I loathe cities. Unpleasant to my nose. My crew don't understand why I don't go on shore leave in cities. Saltwater's a far cleaner smell.
I stared down into the depths, recalling an ancient memory. I was trying to claw toward the air, salty water gagging me, hurting trying to breath. I remember a beautiful woman giving me air. Then I was on pebbles and sand. Wet. It was strange, like a dream. I don't know if it happened. My parents said it didn't. It was so vivid.
You don't hurt family, whatever they might do to you. They're still family. But this man, he wasn't family. Nothing to stop me from taking his knife, covering it in his blood. I don't take that kind of treatment from anyone that isn't family.
He had seen me standing staring at the sea. He told me I was beautiful and praised my "ebony hair, skin like almonds", but said that I was young to have that scar. It's a large one, crossing my eyebrow. He smiled with hungry eyes.
He said he had a job for me. On a boat. I didn't like his eyes, but I went with him because my stomach was aching, and there were many as young as me or not much older. It seemed strange to me. Most ship crews I'd seen were older.
He whipped me. I didn't like that. I wasn't going to take that. So I crept up on him. He didn't expect me to escape my chains like that. It hurt, but I got my wrists out. I'm very quiet. Walk so lightly. Just one reason I got called the Bloody Ghost.
He was sleeping. Then he was gasping in surprise and pain, grabbing me, struggling. I felt dizzy, and there was blood in my eye. Pain on my head. But I was sitting on his corpse.
His crew, the few adults on board, stared at me as I kicked their captain's corpse. I told them to take me back. Got sullen glowers from them. Two of them threw angry words at me, threats.
I remember watching the three corpses bobbing in the water, wondering when the sharks would come. The survivors stared at me with more respect now--and fear.
Those weren't my first killings. I was really young when the patrolman told me it was sad for a little girl to have the eyes of an killer. It had been a day after my second kill. Someone who'd beaten my brother, told him he'd kill him if he came into that territory again. But we needed to cross it to work. And you don't mess with family.
Maybe that's why the woman in the ocean looked at me so sadly.
Saltwater. The feeling of the spar shifting preciously under my feet as my tail swung to compensate. The smell of gunpowder, the thunder of cannons. Wealth twinkling through my fingers. Days hungry, days overflowing. Sprinting at the horizon with hungry eyes, searching for others' sails.
I sent the monies to my mother. Too little an apology over Father. You don't do to family what I did to him. But you also don't do to family what Father did. Still, I hope he's resting in peace. May death cleanse away his sins.
The day after I saw the mermaid, we spotted a fat merchantman bobbing low in the water, heavy with goods. But I held off my crew as we followed her. Gliding silently like we always did, skimming just behind the heights of waves. And another ship took the bait, pouncing. Starved sea wolves, like us. And they died before us, their eyes wide in surprise as our sails popped up right next to them, and we leapt onto their docks.
The other pirates had no wealth, being as hungry as us. But the merchantman's crew thanked us with a share of their wealth. And so we sailed home with a hold less full than a successful day of looting. But after that, we had fewer hungry days. No days of overflowing, but a steady flow into our money-purses.
Sprinting at letters under candlelight. Careful study and adoption of different manners, to deal with arrogant persons expecting similar mannerisms and status displays to their own. The flowing blood of my former crewmen, those that had deserted at my change of careers, as they paid the price for targeting those ships under my protection. May death cleanse their sins. More and more names appearing upon my painstakingly written list of ships under my command. A navyman calling us mercenaries with a sneer. I let him live.
I have pens upon my island filled with beautiful creatures. Large pens more spacious than the cages I found them in. I brought in skilled tenders to care for them. Those whose eyes seemed most wild, like that woman of the sea's, I've scoured the seas for signs of their native homes to release them in. Some of them were so strange I've still not found their origins. Others so meek they'd never survive as anything but pets. Some of those I sell to the kindest seeming buyers.
I remember the coppery tang of blood, one purchaser who hadn't proven as kind as she appeared. It probably wasn't the best thing to do, but she wasn't overall a very good woman. May she rest in peace and death cleanse away her sins. And that poor bird she bought, may it rest in peace.
The wind is gentle on this island of mine. Crisp green smells. Hot and wet, but warmer than the shivering winters in the north. I still hear murmurs from across the waters, wondering where the Bloody Ghost had disappeared to. Some thinking I've retired to live off my plunders, or to bury them deep.
I still sail the oceans. My trade's different, and strangely people don't recognize me, except in the brief moment of terror upon the faces of those who attack my ship expecting hapless merchants. And I look for her.
I've worked to cleanse away my sins in life. May death, when it comes, cleanse the remaining sins away.
I wonder if she'll smile the next time we meet