Tora Barbossa || A Pirates of the Caribbean Story

Chapter 2

My hands were sore from scrubbing the deck. I wiped my forehead with my wrist, careful not to smother it in the soapy foam.

"Nice job, Tora," Michael said, patting my shoulder. I smiled, colour rushing to my cheeks.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

He knelt next to me. "Hi," he smirked. "Fancy meeting me here later?"

I paused. "Huh?"

"I just wanted to know a bit more about ya, that's all." He reached out, tucking my hair behind my ear. I untucked it, awkwardly. "Sorry," he muttered.

I shook my head. "Don't be."

A minute passed before he stood up and walked to the helm, where his father, Captain Philip Smith, stood.

The Captain smirked. "Who were you talkin' to, Smithy?"

Michael rolled his eyes. "Just a friend," he replied.

I glanced to see the Captain look at me, his dark green eyes drilling holes into my skull. "A friend, ya say?"

His son nodded. "Aye."

I stood, brushing my hands on my trousers. I decided that there was no point in listening to their conversation, as intriguing as it was. It was my break, the only break of the day. I grabbed a rope and started to climb up to the "nest" at the very top of the ship. A blast of wind attacked my face, bringing water to my eyes. "Great tides, it's windy," I murmured to myself. I looked down to see the rest of the crew doing their chores. I sighed. Where are you father? I thought.

Soon enough, the night had almost dawned on us. The sky had already turned an orangey-pink colour, the sun almost below the horizon. I bit my bottom lip, watching the sky become darker. It was a daily thing. I'd climb the ropes at the same time everyday and watch the sun come down.

Most of the sailors had wandered back to the hammocks. I swung my legs over the "nest" and slipped my foot into a large gap in the rope. I proceeded to climb down, where, waiting for me, was Michael.

"What were you doing up there?" he asked, taking my hand to help me down from the ropes.

"Bringing the horizon," I replied, smiling.

"Bringing?" He raised his eyebrows. Father once told me a friend - he actually said acquaintance or colleague  - of his used to say that often. After that I took a particular liking to the phrase.

I nodded. "Aye, you look towards the line where the sea and sky meet and say," I pointed to the last edge of the sun, "bring me that horizon." And with those few words, the last lights of the day vanished. We had entered the night.