A Selection of Monologues and Short Stories

Who's the Strongest of Them All?

The sweet salty air awakens me from my slumber as the dim light from the moon gently enlightens my wooden cell. I tentatively put my eye to my only access to the outside world, the outside of my box. Crate after crate full of what? Gold? Jewels? Diamond encrusted goblets? Treasures? Or what they see as treasure like myself? All that can be heard is the cackling of a gull? A gull? Mocking me for my situation? Teasing me for my lack of freedom? Let it. Let them...

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"All the better to keep her!" I snap back angrily. "She is mine to keep and that is final." I can only pray that that would be the end of this silly bickering between my crew and I. "We are set for the Bermuda triangle and that is the end of it." 

I stagger off to my quarters, whiskey in hand. "Bring me the girl." I enter my chamber and light up a cigar. I know her fate and I will do anything to make this memory her last and most horrific. After all she has caused on my ship I almost wish I hadn't gotten myself into this mortifying mess. I want to agree with my crew, but I will look weak, and weakness is not an option. I am not weak willed. They are weak willed. In my anger, my glass bottle smashes to smithereens, cascading to the floor like glittering rainfall. The sting in my hand overwhelms me like a tidal wave of excruciating pain, eating away at my last nerve. 

That's when I snap.

I rise from my bundled up ball and clench my crimson stained fists, so hard that the whites of my knuckles glow. Looking around my room, I notice everything. My tacky bed. The peeling, faded, red rose wallpaper. The leaking pipes. I punch the wall and watch as the wood splinters against my force. Blood splatters over one single rose. I draw a cross on the rose, like I'm executing my feelings. All I care about is that I am powerful, and that is all that matters.

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I need to get out of here and find some form of socialising. Anything to put my mind off of what could become my fate. The slight snuffling brings me out of my dream-like state, fantasising of petty needs. I hold my breath, but feel as though the whole ocean can hear my thumping heart. They're drunk, off their heads. I can hear the smirks in their words. I can picture the evil in their eyes. I can smell the alcohol and smoke on their breath. 

"Wendy! Oh where are you, you stubborn bitch?" I grimace at their remarks. I guess I should think more carefully before wishing upon a star.

Before I know it, the wooden lid is being pried off of the crate with a crowbar. The darkness of the night greets me, being brighter than the inside of the box, I squint profusely. One of the crew members reaches in to grab me. I dig my nails into the wood, cowering in the corner, desperately trying to escape his grasp. He grins and reaches to grab my breast. I bite his hand. Hard. The dirty drunkard recoils, then slaps me harshly on my right cheek. I spit at him, the sting spreading across my face. My hair is being yanked from behind, forcing me to stand, resulting from a click of my knees. 

I give up fighting back. I look down at my blackened feet, defeated. I'm outnumbered. I would rather just obey than be punished. Who knows what these 7 malicious and sexually frustrated men would do to the only female on this ship. The mere thought makes me shudder with disgust. My hands are tied tightly behind me with rope. The roughness against my skin makes me wince. A another man, the one with the eye-patch, pushes the small of my back, making me stumble forward. 

I begin to walk. At least my legs are stretched. But I cannot begin to think where I am going. They can chuck me overboard for all I care. I just need to wait for the right time to come. They lead me through a door and I notice someone sitting on the cold, hard ground. His arms are chained above him, his head hanging low. Why is another prisoner here? Surely he must recognise me! Maybe he is one of Father's men? my 'escorts' stop to discuss something, giving me an opportunity to study him.