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The Life of a Boy Pirate

After five years, visions of that night still haunt me, every time I close my eyes, and sometimes, they attack in the broad daylight. None of it was supposed to happen that way. It was supposed to be a simple raid. We would attack, take all the loot we could find, burn anything British, and then disappear into the night, leaving terror in our wake. But something had to go terribly wrong. The King’s Navy had caught wind of our plans, and they waited, ready for us. They knew we liked to attack when the moon was a waxing crescent, because it left as we did, escaping notice, only to return again.

The Spanish Beauty was making it’s way to a small island, which contained a small but rich town in the Caribbean. We would be rich, and could sail for a long time with the riches we would gain from this loot.

We were ready, moving silently and swiftly through the water in the small long boats. I was a powder monkey, only twelve at the time, but I was lucky. I had escaped the fate my family back in London shared, which was death because of starvation, and also, because I was placed with Captain Maria.

Captain Maria was a fearsome pirate, and an extraordinary leader. Everyman aboard that ship was smitten. She was Spanish, her hair blacker than coal and her skin a dark olive color. The way she talked was her most attracting feature. Her accent was music to our sea tuned ears and when she would sing, we would go completely mad just to hear it.

I was very lucky indeed. We remained silent, coming closer, and closer and closer still until our boats grated against sand. We stepped out, and everyone, with one last look at our captain, went to their positions that they only knew because of a map that we had attained of the small city. I followed her.

“Have you ever handled a cutlass before?” She turns and speaks to me suddenly. It takes me a moment to respond. I nod. “Good,” She takes one from her waist, one of two, and hands it to me. I look at it, and then back to her.

“Captain, I-I,” I stammer. She smiles gently at me. The first of the flames and gun shots block out her words. People’s screaming comes from inside the flames, and other’s rush out. I’m so enthralled with the scene playing out before me; I don’t notice Captain Maria lean down to whisper to me.

“Go, there, into those houses and take them.” She says, her voice taking an evil edge I hadn’t heard before. I salute her, and then go to the first house.

The first man I killed was young, but a soldier none the less. I could see the terror of us both reflected in his eyes. As my sword drew deeper inside him, I gained confidence, and my fear vanished. I ran now, into the first home. It was a family. There was a mother, a baby, and her daughter, who could be only a year or two younger than I. They were cowering together in a corner of their small house. I held my cutlass towards them.

Somehow, I found I had the baby in my arms, and the mother began screaming, and crawling towards me. I killed it, then the mother. The girl was all that was left.

“Ma’ma! Ma’ma!” She shouts, then spits words at me. She’s Spanish. Perhaps, if I spare her, Captain Maria will look upon me with favor. I grab her wrist and pull her behind me as I go to leave. She fights me, so I turn around, and hold the sword to her throat; she stops, then follows when I pull her along. Everything around me slows down.

Two soldiers, clad in red, held Maria while she fought to get away from them. Her wild hair was going every where, covering her raged, and scared face. She’s screaming at them in Spanish, and then again in English, with her delicious voice. One arm comes free. She fights to get the other free, and then, a pistol is fired, and she drops like an anchor has suddenly landed inside her.

I turn around, and drive my cutlass into the Spanish girl’s stomach, killing her. I stand in a daze, not knowing what to do as the only family I have known for a long time, is murdered by British soldiers. I somehow escape notice of the soldiers until the next day, becoming the only surviving member of my crew. They assume I am a survivor of the massacre, and send me on a ship, to America, to a place called Savannah, Georgia.

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ShadowFangirl101 said...
Jul. 26, 2011 at 9:46 pm

First off, I like this. Awesome work.

Second, I notice you're from Sheridan, WY! I am too. Just thought that was cool. :)

prettylittlewriterThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. said...
Jul. 2, 2011 at 12:55 pm
Very good writing. I love how you were real and didn't sugar coat anything. 
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