Thursday, June 5, 2008


The water was surprisingly calm; shimmering, crystal clear, and about as still as you could want. There wasn't a spot of land as far as the eye could see. The sky was nearly cloudless, strikingly blue, and spotted with soaring, circling gulls. This seemed as good a time as any for Peter to reflect on his life thus far.

He'd made some mistakes, but then, what human hasn't. He tried to do the things he knew he was supposed to do: help those in need, support himself with a decent job, and not find his way into incarceration. But Peter stumbled a time or two, and, as bad luck would have it, it was a time just like this... perhaps the biggest stumble of all, that Peter found himself wrapped up into right now.

He'd heard from friends that there was to be a big job opportunity; nothing difficult, but most assuredly well-paying, and that was the very type Peter had been on the hunt for. So he met the man in charge, exchanged pleasantries, and joined the crew. But from the get go, he had serious problems with nearly everyone else involved. It was, much to his own chagrin, his very own big mouth that got him into trouble the most often. He had a quick wit, a sharp tongue, and a nasty streak that, more often than not, managed to get him an ass-kicking. And then, the problems really started to pile up.

Peter had discovered the crew's alcohol supply. He never let on to anyone else that he'd been snooping around and sticking his curiosity into places it really shouldn't have been, and there it was: barrels of the stuff. So Peter helped himself. And over a fortnight, he managed to drain half of the stash into his own greedy gut. In fact, Peter became so drunk and utterly useless, it was only a matter of time before certain members of the crew discovered him lying, bloated to the rafters, snoring between the last two mostly-full barrels. Needless to say, they were far from impressed.

So, as Peter pondered his own mortality, and danced over his past indiscretions, he struggled to wipe his perspiring brow, but, alas, his hands were lashed. Peter took another cursory glance over the plank into the sparkling sea below, inhaled deeply the salty air, and dreamed, for a second, of a life other than that of a smarmy, worthless, pirate. And then, without warning, the sharpened tip of a rapier coaxed him into the vast expanse of the deep below.

The End

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