BLACK HEARTS FOR THE DEAR LADY

UNKNOWN NARRATOR TELLS THE TALE OF A BEAUTIFUL SONG THAT BRINGS MANY THEIR DEATH.

 I found myself lost in the currents of the black sea, the waves pushing my body here and there. I remembered the vessel that had brought me out here, roasting in the burning sun. The ship called Dear Lady. I should have never entered the dark portals, bunked in it 's  nether regions. I was hired on as all other men, deckhands, standing in front of the town court, listening to the Captain and his First mate spout off an advertisement looking for all that would work hard and receive as many shillings as pocket could carry.

 I had nothing to loose. I had no family to speak of. Both parents had died of the plague. The only woman I ever loved married a tavern owner and a worse criminal of the soul, selling children off to the textile plants for nothing less than slavery. I had just been released from town jail for robbing a poor sod and cracking his skull in.

Little did I know the Captain had no intention of paying his shipmates. He was no worse than the Devil himself. Rations were a crumb of bread that fell from the man who lay next to you stealing crust from the other poor sod that had a fourth of a piece of bread.

The ship itself was exporting barrels of whiskey to the coast of France. Who of course, the Queen and all the British isles were at war with  at the time. The Captain, he near gave a damn for allegiance except to himself. He ate well, if you the pigeon is tasty. Well, it was better than crumbs.

It was just a few hours ago when all of us heard the most angelic voice praising the sea. We all heard it. It was to say the least, hypnotizing. We all felt a calm and those black hearts around me had become a shade brighter. It was like a mirage...this vision of a dark haired beauty, naked, walking on the same waters that carried us closer to to the shores of destination.  we were all stunned.

The Captain himself walked off the side of the ship to meet her. More of us were willing to wallow in a deep wet grave to touch this woman who seemed to appear out of nowhere. Alas, a storm brewed and engulfed us. We fought this dark hard storm to a standstill. We lost the battle.

As you can see, I am here, fighting the currents, trying hard to keep my head above it all, surrounded by what used to be The Dear Lady and many bodies of my shipmates.If you must know, really know, I only ask for one last song from that mistress of the sea as I give the sea my last gasp.

Author's Note

JUST WRITING FROM THE HIP, THROWING THINGS AGAINST THE WALL TO SEE IF A STORY COMES TO LIFE

Reviews

[Raven Starhawk]

Such a creative look into your mind. I summon all I need by the openi9ng sentence. I enjoyed this write. You have a grand imagination.

[roarke]

I've been throwin' stuff against that same wall all morning...

Seems like "The Dear Lady" had a sister... this story is definitely going somewhere, I find writing in chunky paragraphs very helpful toward a beginning, middle, end although usually not captured in that order to begin with.

A big feature lately is using appropriate speech jargon, like in Ken Burns documentaries or recently in the movie remake, True Grit. The trick is two fold, making it authentic and then making it understood by the reader/audience. I'm not one for heavy duty research nor am I a linguist. (as can be exampled in my difficulty writing in my native tongue here).... But the results are worth the effort. Keep banging on this one.