A Pirate's Life for Mei

Respawn

Mei did not have the luxury of a quick death. She lay on the ground, trapped and helpless beneath her killer's boot, staring up into gleeful eyes. Her hair caught and glowed and curled and smoked. Her clothing burned. And then her skin, her fat, her flesh, it all turned black and roasted and turned to ash even as she lived through it, desperate and unable to stop it, her lungs able to breathe while the back of her head and body felt agony beyond belief. She screamed through it all.

The fire was not big and it took many agonizing minutes for her to die. This was the kind of trauma that sears itself into the soul, or it would if one could live through it.

Mei did. This was both a blessing and a cruelty that was part of this prison that she was in.

Everything had gone dark, darker than the night above, and then a moment later, it was bright. Daylight.

She was standing, which lasted a moment before she fell to her hands and knees and continued to scream. The scent of her burning flesh was still in her nostrils. The pain still pierced her entire upper body. In panic, she drew in deep lungfuls of air and screamed and screamed and then she saw water in front of her and she instinctively threw herself forward, crawling and then plunging into the liquid.

The shock of the waves and the wetness on her skin calmed her. She blinked, and her breathing slowed. A dim part of her brain recognized that she was no longer on fire. The pain was phantom, only in her memories. Slowly, she drifted through her trauma, pushing through it, trying to become part of her new reality.

She blinked and looked around. There was a beach. It was a little after dawn. The deep ocean was a dark blue, the sand behind her a gray cream. The sky was growing brighter.

Mei was not in chains and no guards stood around her. She was still free.

Some small measure of relief at that did help to steady her. But the horror of what she'd just been through had left her deeply shaken. She couldn't seem to get rid of the smell. The feel of it. She twisted as her stomach heaved into her throat. She gagged and vomited. Yet her stomach was empty and little came out. Swaying on her hands and knees, she dry heaved for a while before turning away and collapsing into the surf.

Mei lay there for some time as the waves broke against her body. She was soaked, but that was fine. The water was good. She couldn't burn here.

The fear possessed her. The pain lived within her. A primal part of her wanted to run and hide. She sobbed and almost collapsed within herself. She screamed and punched the sand in helpless fury.

She'd died. Not only had she been through the ugliest and most traumatic event of her life, but what a resounding failure she must be. Wasn't this the ultimate proof of her weakness, that she was destined to lose over and over again to powers greater than her own?

She hated that man for killing her. And she hated herself for losing yet again. Maybe failure defined her. Maybe she was nothing more than a weak little girl.

After much time had passed, she came to herself again. It took a great deal of mental fortitude, but she told herself that the burning and death hadn't been real. It had only been a dream, no matter how shaken it had left her.

A new fear rose within her heart: that she was letting this beat her, letting her pain and weakness win. No matter how awful the experience, she needed to survive, and giving up might be one way to do it. But is that who she wanted to be?

No. She wanted to be the determined young girl who overcame all the nasty years of alienation and humiliation in her youth. She wanted to be the woman who had fought for a better society as a journalist. She wanted to be strong. So she chose to be.