Sailors Log-Week 1

Sailors Log

It’s been a week since I’ve seen a glimpse of land. A week since I’ve stood on the firm ground of the pirate island Catungooli, a week since I signed up to be a pirate on this ship known as the Calabar.

The silence is almost frightening. The sound of women’s laughter, of drunken men singing merrily, of fights being played out in the street as i lay in my bed trying to sleep had been washed away by the first wave that separated me from my old life.

I didn’t always want to be a pirate. i never did really, and I’m not even sure i want to be one now. i could’ve been a soldier, a blacksmith, maybe even a politician. I used to dream about being a politician, of wearing the curly white wig and those fancy clothes i envied so. Of being looked up to, of being respected, of having a life away from dragging my father home night after night onto his bed, with him bearly conscious enough to walk but conscious enough to swing at my head, swearing and saying his only had one.

And then i saw the Calabar. I dont know what it was doing at Catungooli, most likely filling up on supplies like all the other pirate ships. But this ship seemed different, special. It called out my name, it promised me joy and riches beyond compare, to take me away from this life i loathed, and freedom. I had never felt so alive, so sure in my whole life that the Calabar was my destiny, and if i joined it’s crew i would recieve everything it promised.

The Calabar lied.

Natz