And Nothing but the Sounding Sea

1: i've been in some deep shit, but this is the deepest yet

The sun rose. Maria watched it, her head resting against the soft sand that made her pillow. It crept, a slow ascent into the light blue sky, as the pirate watched, and knew, that this time, there truly was no hope for her.

She was the most feared pirate that roamed the seas. Seeing her ship on the horizon was like seeing death itself; she was indomitable, untamable, fearless.

But there was not a spot of land for miles around the island- Maria had surveyed the horizon in every direction thousands of times. Not a ship had passed, not a single skimmer, though she prayed for one. Even a naval vessel would be a relief at this point. Death by hanging would be a mercy compared to the death that awaited her here.

What a sorry situation, she thought to herself. Her crew, drowned. Her ship, destroyed. And her first mate-for she refused to consider the woman dead- lost.

Then, the inevitability: if she didn't think of a way out, she was going to die on this shit-piece of island, with no-one left but the birds to remember her. During the day, the sun beat down like an oven, and it was all she could do to make a hollow in the hot sand, and wait for the night, sheltered, if half-hazardly, by her captain's coat.

It must be some way of punishment, Maria groused, this wasting death. Her one desire was to die in battle, so of course she would be granted a pity death as this.

As late evening came with the sun's descent to the west, she threw off her coat, climbing out of the hole and stretching her limbs. Already she felt weakened; two days of starvation would do that, she reckoned. It was nothing to her. It was a while since she'd hungered like this, but she had done more with less even before this sorry situation.

The lightness of her water bottle was what worried her. Maria unclasped it from her belt and unscrewed the cap, swirling around the water inside. The silver in the metal would keep it clean, but there was only half a cup left, maybe less, by her estimate. She took a few sips, then clasped it back to her belt with a sigh. Settling back on the cooling sand, she gazed across the red orange glaze the setting sun sent across the water.

Her pistol, she thought, and her knife. Two ways out.

But Maria would be damned if she would die a coward's death. The pistol was useless anyhow, with all its ammo ruined by saltwater. At most, it was a bludgeoner; at least, it was a worthless hunk of metal.

She drew to her feet, and began to pace the island, searching for an escape.

It was rough seas, lightning and rain that terrible day. Waves so large she was afraid the ship would tip, and a sky so dark she wouldn't have seen anything if it did. It was all Maria and her crew could do to stay on board, much less even attempt to keep their course.

And then Beatrice, darling Beatrice, confident and sure of victory when even Maria was faltering.

The last look Maria had of her was the first mate tumbling overboard, as the ship crashed into the rocks and sent everyone into the sea.

A thousand curses ran through her head. She should have waited near shore, she should have heeded the warnings- that damn siren, it was the sea-bitch's fault. It was Maria's fault. Seeing one of those foul creatures was bad luck enough, and then she was fool enough to try anyways.

My fault, she mouthed through dry lips. The hot sand boiled around her.

Sleep never came easy in these unfamiliar quarters, but at some time, Maria fell asleep, and when she awoke, it was dark. She sat up, scrubbing away the sand from her face and fumbling for her bottle; the last of it trickled down her throat.

She shook the bottle, making sure to retrieve every drop before screwing back the cap. She tossed the bottle aside, running her fingers through her sheered hair.