A Pirate's Life For Me

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I used to think that curtains were machines.

"Catch me, Daddy!" I scream back, running joyously out of his reach. He almost never chases me, but it's okay. I like to give him the chance. Sometimes it even makes him laugh.

They always knew right when to close.

"Get back here, Caspian," Daddy growls, but he's smiling. I laugh. Run faster. If he can't catch me, he gets mad, but the longer I run, the longer he smiles. He never smiles anymore.

I used to think it was clever, how everyone could afford such advanced machines, machines that noticed when the Ripper would show up down the block, a child beside him, hand clutching the tattered pirate's jacket.

The familiar screech of metal on metal pierces the air as he gives in and takes a few steps after me. I can't help but to stop and watch the slower ones, watch the fabric shake as it cuts off the view into the homes. Giggling, I run forward, chubby fingers outstretched to rip through the flimsy purple sheet, but Daddy's arms wrap around me before I can.

Some machines were more advanced than others.

"I gotcha!" he growls, voice loud in my ear, but I shriek with laughter. "Don't poke through curtains unless you plan on lootin', boy!" The fingers on my waist brush across my stomach and sides, tickling my skin until I'm writhing in his arms. He guffaws, keeps me held tight to him.

They always closed before Daddy got close.

His fingers poke harder at my soft skin until I'm shouting from pain, not joy, tears pricking my eyes, but Daddy still laughs. It's only when I sniffle that he heaves a disappointed sigh and drops me to the ground. "Come on, Caspian," he mutters, clapping me on the back of the head. I scrub my eyes, embarrassed. "Be a man. Men don't cry." I listen to him sigh as he walks away, my chubby child legs not fast enough to keep up. "Weak."

Once I got old enough to walk around alone, I'd race the machines.

My feet pound the cement and I can't stop the smile that stretches across my face. I'm faster than before, but the curtains always close before I can see inside. Just glimpses of couches and things before the fabric flutters shut. I don't mind. I just rebound off of lawns and walls, screaming after the next one. If I'm loud enough, they close faster.

Until one day, I found a broken machine, and for the first time, I noticed the mechanics of the world outside of Daddy and Caspian's little bubble.

I bolt forward, racing up a cobbled path and across a green lawn, eyes fixed on the back of the chair I can spot through the open window. I get there; my hands slam into the wall, laughter bubbling up through my panting breaths. The curtains hadn't closed. For the first time, the machine was broken. I hear a gasp; my head turns slowly to look left. There's a woman standing there, a little boy behind her, an older man poking his head out of another doorway further back in the house. The woman has a dirty apron on, hand over her mouth. She looks scared. Everyone always looks scared. The boy, though, the boy only looks curious. He stares back at me. Chest heaving, I smile wider, lifting my hand in a wave, a silent invitation. I've never had a friend before. Can't have friends if you don't introduce yourself, right? "Hi," I say brightly, still breathless. I'd been running pretty fast. "I'm Caspian, what's your—" The man storms into the room, shoving the woman behind him, glaring down at me with a fire in his eyes so hot my back starts to sweat. I stumble a bit, fingers leaving the glass pane. "For God's sake, Louise!" The man screams, slamming the glass windows shut. I flinch, hop back a few steps, eyes rounded at the hate and fear in the man's face as he yanks his curtains shut so hard they rip. There's a muted scream before the front door creaks. My head snaps to the right; I barely have time to see the man's angry face again before I can only see cobble, sprinting out and away, down the street, back towards Daddy, safety, away from the angry man screaming about demon child, demon child, demon—