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Miss Charlotte Merrigold's ninth birthday was a formal occasion. She pinned her hair with fish bones, wore a skirt of torn sail, and held a matching pair of seashells by her ears. A small puppy that had followed her down to the seaside became the eager young prince, and yells from the nearby pier music to dance to. As the night grew colder the girl lit a rainbow fire and told Prince all the stories she knew. She told him about the mermaid that kissed Pat the Pirate but had no legs for him to spread, about a man named Will who was hung for blowing his nose on his sleeve, and her own story about a girl who stole and got away with it.
Prince must not have thought much of her stories for he, who was secretly a mutt but had fine enough ears to be sired by Mr. Hamsworth's dog, draped his body across her lap and snored. After that she braided kelp until the tide touched her toes.
Eleven years later Prince died behind the Old Fisherman Inn and Charlotte boarded a ship with sails, cannons, and coffee beans.
"We don't take beggars," said a man with an upturned eye patch. "Or girls."
"Ah, but I am no beggar. Beggars beg, you see, but I am merely asking if you are foolish enough to leave me behind." Her voice rolled with a practiced lilt. "Oh, and before you go repeating yourself, I would bring your attention to these horrid hips of mine." Plucked her shirt bottom and lifted it enough to reveal a starved waist. "Surely, such pointy, bony things, that stick so far and knock my arms constitute womanhood. If not, well, I wonder why they ever reared their sharp little heads all those years ago."
The man's lips curled. "The answer is no." He stirred a coffee pot and handed it to the serving boy.
Gulls reeled overhead, fat fairy lights swung from a toy crow's nest, and a cheery loop of music bumbled from the speakers. The serving boy descended a gangplank and delivered the steaming drink to an elderly couple enjoying the sea breeze. Money was exchanged and comments made on the lad's too big boots, and crossboned hat.
Charlotte's laugh was carefully practiced and precisely executed. "You don't seem to understand. I am not looking for a job aboard your miserable vessel. Hardly two people wide, and four long, there wouldn't be any room. Frankly, I'm amazed five of you live on here. No…" the thief lent forward, wrapped a bony arm over the man's shoulders, and whispered in his ear. "I am holding you hostage."
"Are you now." Not a question. Hands continued to work.
"Indeed. You see, my dog died, and I am feeling a bit despondent. Well, I was. Then you boys sailed into town. Dressed as pirates and selling coffee. Seemed like fun. But you fine fellows, I'm sorry to say, don't. So, I want this boat and in exchange, I won't kill you or ruin your coffee beans. How does that sound?"
"Like you've lost it."
"Good," she declared. "That's what I was going for." Pulled a gun from her sleeve. "But, Black Beard, I wasn't kidding."
It wasn't, strictly speaking, illegal to be insane. And so it became her backup plan. If things didn't work she could just crow to a doctor and be locked up, but in a place with padding, not large ladies in uniform. Free food, free drugs, and free electroshock. It didn't sound so bad. Better to be free yourself though. Free to sail away from that sorry little town, escape into a country people told her wasn't too far away, and be no longer thought of as the town's homeless whore spawn.
But people never explained to her how far it was. Nor how little she was. And when she got there, sinking and starving, they called her illegal, and sent her back to bury her Prince.
Prince must not have thought much of her stories for he, who was secretly a mutt but had fine enough ears to be sired by Mr. Hamsworth's dog, draped his body across her lap and snored. After that she braided kelp until the tide touched her toes.
Eleven years later Prince died behind the Old Fisherman Inn and Charlotte boarded a ship with sails, cannons, and coffee beans.
"We don't take beggars," said a man with an upturned eye patch. "Or girls."
"Ah, but I am no beggar. Beggars beg, you see, but I am merely asking if you are foolish enough to leave me behind." Her voice rolled with a practiced lilt. "Oh, and before you go repeating yourself, I would bring your attention to these horrid hips of mine." Plucked her shirt bottom and lifted it enough to reveal a starved waist. "Surely, such pointy, bony things, that stick so far and knock my arms constitute womanhood. If not, well, I wonder why they ever reared their sharp little heads all those years ago."
The man's lips curled. "The answer is no." He stirred a coffee pot and handed it to the serving boy.
Gulls reeled overhead, fat fairy lights swung from a toy crow's nest, and a cheery loop of music bumbled from the speakers. The serving boy descended a gangplank and delivered the steaming drink to an elderly couple enjoying the sea breeze. Money was exchanged and comments made on the lad's too big boots, and crossboned hat.
Charlotte's laugh was carefully practiced and precisely executed. "You don't seem to understand. I am not looking for a job aboard your miserable vessel. Hardly two people wide, and four long, there wouldn't be any room. Frankly, I'm amazed five of you live on here. No…" the thief lent forward, wrapped a bony arm over the man's shoulders, and whispered in his ear. "I am holding you hostage."
"Are you now." Not a question. Hands continued to work.
"Indeed. You see, my dog died, and I am feeling a bit despondent. Well, I was. Then you boys sailed into town. Dressed as pirates and selling coffee. Seemed like fun. But you fine fellows, I'm sorry to say, don't. So, I want this boat and in exchange, I won't kill you or ruin your coffee beans. How does that sound?"
"Like you've lost it."
"Good," she declared. "That's what I was going for." Pulled a gun from her sleeve. "But, Black Beard, I wasn't kidding."
It wasn't, strictly speaking, illegal to be insane. And so it became her backup plan. If things didn't work she could just crow to a doctor and be locked up, but in a place with padding, not large ladies in uniform. Free food, free drugs, and free electroshock. It didn't sound so bad. Better to be free yourself though. Free to sail away from that sorry little town, escape into a country people told her wasn't too far away, and be no longer thought of as the town's homeless whore spawn.
But people never explained to her how far it was. Nor how little she was. And when she got there, sinking and starving, they called her illegal, and sent her back to bury her Prince.
Literature
Always
Your ghost is at my fingertips.
Literature
On The Threshold of Creation
Daughter of Hecate,
I was born upon the threshold
of one year and the next:
a tiny earthen creature,
awash in a sea of stars.
Too late did I remember
Capricorn is the goat with
the tail of a fish,
and perhaps my legs were never meant
to tread upon the earth.
I've heard tell
that Saturn is the harshest master,
and will never be satisfied
by words alone.
In the beginning I was sure-footed
as the goat who glitters in stars above me,
ideas sprung full-grown from my head,
as Athena born from Zeus
Too late do I recall
that prophecy foretold,
Zeus' own creation
would surpass even him.
I'm still trying to puzzle out
whether my own creation
will
Literature
The Siren
Given half the chance, she'd rather sleep
Alone, half-frozen on the ocean floor
And picked apart by eels like so much seaweed,
Than undertake the chore of your affections.
Understand that you are not the first:
So many so-called "well-intentioned" men
Have thrown themselves upon her reef declaring
"Rescue!" she needn't even cast a net
To catch her keep. Yet still you come ashore
With vows to make your world your gift to her
As though her own were somehow wanting.
You claim the siren's singing lured you here?
You listened to that hoarse, rampageous scream,
"Away! Get back!" and called it music? No,
Though you and she may share a mother tongu
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I present this, with as much splendor as you can imagine, to the small but wonderful readership roaming DeviantArt. I wish this to be for you.
And I put to you, dearest reader, a question.
What say you?
The dialogue I am uncertain about. Was it too encumbering? Did it seem like filler? Was it interesting, or would you prefer a more description based trigger?
I dislike the title. Any ideas?
Did you feel for the main character? Or was she unsympathetic? This was an experimental attempt at an undignified, but not repulsive, female antihero. Was that successful?
And finally, did you spot any story breaking grammar, and/or spelling mistakes? I did twist the laws of English a little bit, but I hope this added to the flow, not dis attached the reader from it.
I wish to know your answers. For I do not know what to think of it.
And I put to you, dearest reader, a question.
What say you?
The dialogue I am uncertain about. Was it too encumbering? Did it seem like filler? Was it interesting, or would you prefer a more description based trigger?
I dislike the title. Any ideas?
Did you feel for the main character? Or was she unsympathetic? This was an experimental attempt at an undignified, but not repulsive, female antihero. Was that successful?
And finally, did you spot any story breaking grammar, and/or spelling mistakes? I did twist the laws of English a little bit, but I hope this added to the flow, not dis attached the reader from it.
I wish to know your answers. For I do not know what to think of it.
© 2012 - 2024 EvilpixieA
Comments27
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you had me by the title
congratulations on the DLD, dear heart!
congratulations on the DLD, dear heart!