Posts Tagged ‘sea’

fell down the stairs? by ImSHOE on DeviantArt.com

Look at these people, these happy people … so beautiful, yet so drunk.

The first went down outside the ladies room, my blade smooth along her halter-top’s tan line. So young, she cut like butter.

I left the next looking like a fall, so good to hear the snap of her neck, and the thump of her head on each stair.

The third was older, but quick. She saw my blade; in one glance her eyes revealed a lifetime of anger and frustration. I felt the snap of my wrist, pain in my eye, then a warm trickle, down my cheek.

Chains by MikaZZZ on DeviantArt.com

“So calling me the ball and chain rings true!”

McGrath bellowed his anguish. “Why, Mary?”

Her cutlass sang into its sheath. “I’m a better leader than you and you know it. You stopped listening, McGrath!”

He lunged forward, but the shackle held and he fell.

She knelt. “To the plank? Or would you prefer I made this quick?” He made a grab for his knife. She had it faster, opened his jugular, his gurgled expiration.

“Quick, then.” She palmed his eyes closed. “Him spat from the sea, his salt to return. Ashes to silt.” She sniffed. “I’ll miss ya, Love.”

Amplexus Pirate by ShawnCoss on DeviantArt.com

Tarl Graytooth shifted uncomfortably as a splinter from the damaged deck stabbed his back.  That was the least of his worries as his left arm dangled loosely, gobbets of blood slowly drying into red balloons that hung from his stained shirt.  Alas, the battle was worth it; there was food aboard again!  The bloody chunk of meat left a trail of juice in his beard.  Fine cuts of meat could be gained from the chest and shoulders.  Better still the fatty thighs.  But the best, ah, the dessert of meats, was the dead pirate’s calves, which tasted just like veal.

Message in a Bottle by paulchensmom on DeviantArt.com

“Cheats!” Cap’n bellowed, throwing our dice overboard. “I’ll give ye a game o’ chance!”

Bad loser. That scurvy scoundrel marooned us four atop this coral atoll. The gallows woulda been mercy. Nary a shipbiscuit to share between us.

We ate up the crabs n snails n Slushy’s pet monkey.

Ate Slushy next. Poxy bastard lasted two days. Spoiled in the hot sun.

Us last three played rock, scissors, paper—winner take all. No gambling this time. My rock found Mick’s head. My scissors, Gummo’s throat.

My paper, I wrote my last story on it, n stuck it in this bottle.

The Shaman’s Prayer by ArtisansAzure on DeviantArt.com

Three days pitched into the bowels of this vessel, nibbling bread, her dress was shredded but her corset was intact. She waited. When he came, she smiled, her eyes a liquid black. She held up her hands in surrender, her rings glinting light. He grabbed her roughly. She leapt to him, wrapped her legs around his hips and kissing him, clipped her rings into the razored wire stashed in her corset’s boning. A silver flash passed his vision then bit into his throat, bleeding his surprise down both their chests. She landed on her feet. “I am no man’s booty.”

Volatile by Rilrae at DeviantArt.com

Pushing blades through mama’s belly, Captain Cruz shanghaies Shelly, claiming her as concubine. Though just thirteen, she obeys his foul desires. It’s survival. Afterward, to numb the pain, she dances like mama danced.

Months later, the ship sets anchor offshore her island home.

With two fluttering fans, Shelly twirls on deck to fiddles and catcalls. Cruz, craving private performance, calls her to his quarters. He licks his lips as she slips from sarong, undulating unadorned, her fans concealing her treasures. Captain’s captivated until the razor-edged fans slice out his eyes, his tongue.

She slips silently overboard, gliding toward moonlit shore.

Sea Monster by Sergon on DeviantArt.com

The grandson of Red Beard, Flint Turner was the size of three men and boasted a cutlass no average man could lift alone. The tips of his crimson mustache, beaded and braided, stretched down, clacking against the leather and gold adorning his chest. His every bellow commanded the tides, undulating the inferior neighboring vessels. He feared no man, no ship, for he consorted and swam with the denizens of the sea. With a whistle and a click, he commanded the submerged monsters, tearing ships and drowning souls. “Plunder my enemies.” Never a mark on his ship nor foe left alive.

Pirates by HamsterFly at DeviantArt.com

A musket shot rang in Peyrce’s ears, zipping past his head. “Bloody ‘ell,” he muttered. All around him, his men yelled and fought bravely, pushing forward against the rogue pirates with a crazed fury.
He darted toward the quarterdeck of the ship where the rogue captain stood at the wheel, clad in brown trousers with a silk overcoat. The captain met Peyrce’s eyes and nodded his head. “To the death, Captain Peyrce.”
Peyrce unsheathed both his swords. “Nay. To the depths.” It was a fate worse than death, but one any good Captain deserved.
One he himself anticipated.

Auld Spice by Paisley on DeviantArt.com

He looked down to see the sword plunged to the hilt in his side but could not feel the cold steel, nor any stirring of pain.  Was he dead already? Had his soul departed, leaving his torso to rot on a broken skeleton? He squeezed his eyes, hoping to feel something, anything that would belie he was no longer of this world. Then a whiff tickled the tiny hairs of his nostrils, a subtle fragrance, leaving a lightly aromatic lilt on his senses — Old Spice. He was alive, and a man who smelled like a man had just bested him.

Drown by Bern-Z on Deviant Art

The pirate skiff circles Sardinio’s raft. His village razed, the scared, skinny clam diver’s son struggles asea.

Spear aloft, Captain smiles gold. “Little minnow, unarmed like your father. We’ll filet you, too.”

Sardinio licks salt from chapped lips. Grabbing stone anchor, he plunges into kelp forest.

“After him!” Captain bellows, diving.

They gulp air, dive deep, pursuing bubbles. Spears jab shadows.

Bubbles escape coral cave.

Sea stalkers enter darkness like morays seeking lobster supper.

Deep rumbling. The cave mouth crumbles, drowning watery screams inside.

Sea surface breaks. Sardinio gasps. Lies back, floating.

His father gave him his weapon — strong lungs.