Child of a Pirate, Raised at Sea

     The sea breeze had always been my favorite thing about my home. I loved the weightless feeling as we all drifted lazily through the open blue, nothing but water and salted air surrounding us. The Burning Star had been my home for 15 years. I knew nothing about the world beyond the surfs of white water, and didn’t care to. The world I lived in now, my world was more than enough.
     But I knew what the people thought of us, “Barbaric” , “Smugglers”……”Pirates”. I’d heard about it from the men my Father often traded goods with. My Father says his time on land had shown him many things he had never imagined could exist. Both good, and evil and that is why we lived here. Where nothing but our anchor could hold us down.
     I was never aloud ashore. That was fine by me. The things my Father tried to explain to me that came from the other world seemed complicated, not understandable. I would rather watch from the Burning Star while he rowed to shore with his First Mate and came back with new stories to tell me. I often didn’t know what he said to me when he came back, because it was about the other world. My Father never got frustrated when I didn’t understand, or walk away angrily when I could not pronounce the words he attempted to teach me. He would stay well into the night, explaining things like electricity or telephones to me, until he was obligated to turn from me and tend to his crew, set a new course, or oversee what problems had been cooked up during his time with me.
     I loved it when his dark brown eyes would light up with excitement when he told me about his inland adventures, the way his eyes shone with admiration when I would ask him to describe how a projector works to me multiple times. But eventually he would have to heave himself from the wood floor and leave me to my thoughts.
     Today we had chosen the huge gallery to talk. Hardly anyone came down here, so Father new that here it was safe to come away from the demanding responsibilities as Captain. The light came in through the pane-glass windows and shined on my kinky black hair, picking out the natural highlights of dark burgundy. My toffee-colored skin was also warmed and the boat rose and fell with the fall of the tide. I stared intently with my bright amber eyes into my father’s and saw how his white-washed beard ruffled in the wind that came from one of the opened windows as he laughed at his own joke. My father was a man of many words, but of very few jokes. Well, funny jokes that is. He could tell jokes, yes, but not well. I would laugh along good-naturedly, as I did now, so as not to hurt his feelings.
     My Father, as I knew him, had always been a happy, carefree man. He always new how to make me feel better, or quiet me when a nightmare would become too much and I would awake to the sound of my own screaming. I loved the smell of his worn shirt as he would hug me goodnight after calming me and blow out the lantern he had lit to help him see what was wrong. As he walked out of my cabin, I would burry my face in my pillow where some off his scent had been caught. The smell of him calmed me and reminded myself that he was nearby.
      I could still smell his scent as he sat across from me on an unused barrel, me on the window sill, my legs hugged to my chest as I wrapped my arms about them. I could here the sound of hard working men above my head and the occasional shout of an order. I finally realized I had slipped into a reverie when my Father stopped talking and took something from his leather waistcoat pocket. My eyes lit up with excitement when I realized what it was. I eagerly took the book in hand. Flipping through the pages and feeling the anticipation of finding another new world within them. I looked up to my father and said “Thank you! Thank you so much. I cant wait to read it.” My father chuckled and glanced behind me to the bookshelf stretching from the floor to the ceiling. “I only hope you kind find a place to keep it.” I laughed delightedly, not at all concerned about having enough space to keep my new book, just that I had one. My book collection kept me from feeling lonely, and taught me things about the world and land I had never been too. “Father, one can never have too many books.” He nodded agreeably and we embraced in a hug, but only seconds later we heard a harsh call.
     “Oh, Captain!” A distant voice called. Father’s shoulders sagged. I smiled to myself knowing that he enjoyed spending time with me more than his ship. But it also made me sad. He did love the Burning Star once, before….
“Oh, Captain! The voice became louder and was accompanied by large dragging footsteps.
“Oh, CAPTAIN!!” Father and I finally let go of each other and faced the door together.
“In here, Oliver.” My Father replied in his easy going voice. The first mate of the ship came jogging down the adjacent corridor.
“Captain, the crew and I have been looking everywhere for you.”
He was a big burly of a man, with a full black moustache. He looked clumsy and off balanced, so tall he had to stoop to enter the gallery door. Then he glanced at me.
“Hello, Milady.” He acknowledged me with a slight bow. I gathered my long flowing skirts about me.
“Good afternoon, First Mate Oliver.” I replied back with a smile. The edges of his brown eyes crinkled at my formal response.
“Captain,” he said once again, turning his attention to my Father,” They are approaching. Should we retreat?”
“No, not at all, we don’t have anything to hide. Do we Oliver?” I could here a double meaning in my father’s words, but couldn’t decipher it.
“But, Captain, what should happen if they attack?” he said darkly, looking behind my Father and I at the still open window. I looked too. The sun was already dipping behind the western sea, making the ocean water sparkle like a million different colored jewels. Sea Gulls twisted in and out of the low waves, looking for an early dinner. I couldn’t believe my Father and I had been talking for such a long time.
     Then, all of a sudden I saw what Oliver was speaking about. A ship, about the size of ours was jetting along smoothly through the water. It was obviously being propelled by more than just the winds as it reached us in only a few moments. Oliver and my Father shared a few hurried words between themselves and then Oliver left. I felt a keen sense of nervousness with a sharp edge of worry. We met other travelers on these waters often and my father had never acted like this. I suppose my father saw my worry as he said “Traders.” In response to my questioning silence. But his voice sounded wrong  and I could see in his eyes that something wasn’t right.
“What did he mean by an ‘attack’?” I asked, my voice more level and mature sounding than usual so as to coerce him into telling me the truth.
“It’s nothing child, just complications.” I knew Father was lying when he said this because it was not I he was looking at when he answered my question. He was looking directly out the window at the ship. I heard the groan as their anchor was lowered and the splash when it hit the water.
“Father, who are they?” I asked as I leaned farther out the window trying to get a better view of our visitors. One of them suddenly looked up at me. I gasped. His face was brutal, twisted in a grotesque smile as he squinted up at me through his coal black eyes. His neck had a huge gash straight across, as if someone tried to slice it open, but failed miserably. There was no kindness in his eyes as he looked back down and continued walking on the wooden board that was supplied by the crew of the Burning Star so they could come aboard. His crew followed after him all looking the same as the first. Tattered clothes hung loosely on their shoulders and faces hardened by battle.
“Please, doll. Come away from the window”.
“Father, you are scaring me. What do those men want?” I questioned him, my voice growing with worry.
“My daughter, it’s nothing to worry yourself about.” His voice sounded as though he were far away. A cold breeze came through the opened window that was unlike any breeze I have ever felt from the ocean, it felt cold, bitter, and twirled my long hair around me. The cold seemed to bring Father out of his daze and he tucked a loose hair behind my ear and kissed my forehead.
“Just promise me you won’t come out of this room. Okay?” It wasn’t a question, but an order. Although, I still didn’t understand what could make my Father act this unusual. He never was this serious even when…..
“Do you promise?!” He said more loudly. By now I could hear the voices of the newcomers on the main deck. I looked up at the wooden ceiling and for the first time I was scared.
“Yes. I promise.” I answered my voice as dark and quiet as night. My Father then went to the window and shut it tight, locking it from the inside.
“Stay away from the windows too.” With that my Father left the room in a swirl of his waist coat.