Mutiny | Teen Ink

Mutiny

March 16, 2017
By cheshire987357 SILVER, Culpeper, Virginia
cheshire987357 SILVER, Culpeper, Virginia
8 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
She's mad but she's magic. There's no lie in her fire.-Charles Bukowski


Grace gagged on the taste of the ocean soaked binds lashed to her wrists. For the seventh time she had tried to bite through her restraints and again it had done nothing but make her teeth ache and her throat dry. Her so called crew mates had left her stranded on the beach of the deserted island, her treasure map now stolen and in the hands of that treacherous first mate. They hadn’t even bothered with a guard to make sure she couldn’t escape, instead they had pushed her just close enough to the water for her knees to be submerged, safe to say Grace wasn’t looking forward to high tide.
        Attempting to slide backwards was futile, her energy had already been expelled screaming curses at her crew as they plundered her private food stocks and split her jewelry amongst themselves. The only option left for her was to try and loosen the ropes, twisting her hands up and down Grace prayed the knot would loosen or the bonds would fray just the tiniest fraction. Neither happened and time was running out, already her shoulder length hair was being soaked by the rising waves. Tears streamed down Grace’s sunburned cheeks as the water splashed her full in the face and shot up her nose and mouth, burning her insides. Coughing and hacking up the salty spray the former pirate captain knew the next wave would engulf her entirely, even from a distance she could see it begin to form and build its strength. Bowing her head in defeat Grace braced for the final blow.

       It never came, instead two large hands grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her back, dragging her through the wet sand until she was well enough away from the water’s edge that she could see her waterlogged toes. Collapsing in relief at this pardon Grace looked for her savior, expecting to see one of her old mates who had had a change of heart or possibly her first mate come to kill her himself. Instead she was met with nothing more than a few deep footprints in the sand and a pen knife about the length of her index finger. Brightening at this small boon she leaned her body as close to the knife as possible, her hands and feet were useless, but she still had her teeth. The first few tries gave her nothing but a mouthful of sand and broken shells which she promptly spat out. Finally she managed to grip the small handle of the knife in her mouth and point the direction of the blade out. Bending her neck as far down as it would allow her she began to saw at the thick ropes.
          It was gruelling work, the sun peeled the skin of her exposed neck and sweat dripped down from her forehead into her eyes. Her mouth shook from exhaustion of having to tense its muscles for so long without a break. Grace managed to cut through about half of the bonds around her wrist before she grunted in frustrated impatience and pulled hard against the rope, ripping them apart the rest of the way. Her shoulders and arms sagged in relief, finally able to stretch after several hours being bound in the same position. Spitting out the knife she grasped it in her half asleep fingers and cut through the other ropes holding her feet.
        Throwing away her bonds Grace collapsed on the beach, stretching out her newly freed appendages and enjoying the first taste of freedom since the mutiny. Grinning wickedly she tucked the knife into her pant’s pocket and looked about the beach for any more signs of her mysterious hero. She was alone as far as she could see, although the jungle behind her that made up two thirds of the small island was so dense she could barely see a foot into it. That was where the footsteps led, so whoever had saved her must have ducked into there. Maybe they could help her regain her ship and the treasure map! She would of course have to split it with them but she would have had to split it with her crew mates anyway if all had gone along the original plan, and halfsies is a whole lot better sounding than eighteenthsies. Rising onto her wobbly legs Grace raked her fingers through her now dry blonde hair, already calculating in her mind what she would do to her first mate once she had the treasure in her possession.



Similar Articles

JOIN THE DISCUSSION

This article has 0 comments.